Peace
by mary-scot
Summary: Hector and Andromache face an arranged marriage, but upon meeting each other learn that it may not be so bad. Each is determined to be stronger, but just like peace, there are no losers when love prevails. Duty and romance do not always have to conflict.
1. One

01 

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Andromache sat in front of her expensive looking glass, trying to ignore the haunted look that was suspended around her reflection.  She brushed her hair slowly, knowing it might be the last time she could do so and consider it her own, not the property of her husband.  She tried to concentrate on the soothing, methodic insertion of the pearlescent comb teeth slipping into the dark tresses and sliding through with ease. 

Andromache found her mind wandering, and as the brushstrokes became more and more languid, her thoughts returned to her doubts and anxiety.  Shunning the presence of her maids in favor of spending this last night alone, Andromache sat and ruminated on the misery of her arranged marriage.

_I don't want to marry him_, Andromache thought bitterly.  _There are thousands of women that want to marry him, why can't he marry one of them?  I don't want a hero.  I want a man.  Hector, commander of the fearsome Trojan armies and prince of the proud city itself.  I shall be the queen to Troy's future king._

"I don't even know him!" the exclamation fell from her lips unbidden.  Uncharacteristically apprehensive that someone overheard her, she glance darted uncertainly around the room.  For the first time, a decision she truly couldn't fight was being forced upon her, and Andromache knew she was powerless to change it.  Her father, King Eetion, had delighted in the idea of matching his daughter to the Trojan prince.

_   I must travel many miles to reach Troy_, thought Andromache resentfully.  _I must leave my father and seven brothers forever.  Thebe is my city…I don't want to leave it for someone I've never met!  Hector, a man accustomed to brutality and violence.  He will control me because he doesn't understand how I am.  I don't want to be 'Hector's wife,' I want to be Andromache!_

In a rare fit of temper, Andromache hurled her comb into the wall beside her mirror.  The delicate ornament shattered, neither accustomed nor designed for such abuse, and Andromache rushed over to collect the pieces.  Shells were rare in Thebe, for it was located in the mountains, yet the reason why Andromache was so upset ran deeper than material value.  As she pieced together the shattered teeth of the comb, her body was racked with sobs. 

_Mother_, she wept, _I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to break your comb…I just wish you could save me from this.  I don't want to travel three hundred miles away from my family, to live in a city whose people are not my own.  They will resent me being there.  I don't belong in Troy. _

Andromache crushed the shell fragments in her palm and leaned against the wall, drawing shaky breaths as she tightened the reigns over her emotions.  The cold temperature of the stone cut through her sleeping gown quite sharply, but the iciness helped clear her head.  Andromache sighed, noiselessly easing down against the wall in a jumble of silk.  She slumped to the floor, drained and defeated.

_I cannot arrive in Troy like this_, Andromache thought listlessly.  Her hand dropped at her side, spilling the contents across the floor.  As the infinitesimal comb remnants skittered and rolled across the marble, Andromache ignored the tiny sounds and stared at the ceiling. 

_My ceiling is vaulted…it's so high, yet it still contains this massive room_, Andromache thought.  _Maybe I will be this room…and Hector will limit _me_ as well.  Maybe he will enclose me and make me seem smaller than I really am.  Perhaps I should resign myself to my fate._

****

Andromache spent the night huddled against the wall of her room.  In the morning, her maids found her and bade her ready herself for the journey.  Unnerved at her unusual compliance, the servants did not complain; Princess Andromache was not a troublemaker by any stretch of the imagination, but her disdain of the marriage was well known and the maids were troubled when she apparently stopped fighting it.

Allowing herself to be dressed and primped by her maids, Andromache sat stoically as she was attended to.  Usually preferring to do such things herself, she was determined not to take action that would be deemed cooperative short of being problematic.  A soft knock on the door made her jump.

"Andromache?" a voice asked tentatively.  It was King Eetion.

_I'd be careful too, after marrying off my daughter to a complete stranger,_ thought Andromache acrimoniously.

"Yes, father?" she answered sweetly.  She reminded herself that though the decision was beneficial for him, it was also beneficial for her.  Using his connections, he had arranged for the marriage in the hopes that his daughter could live in a renowned city where she would be safe from the Greeks.  The infamous high walls could protect her from Agamemnon's armies.

"Leave us," he commanded the maids, who instantly fled.  He shut the door that the last maid had carelessly (or not so carelessly, thought Andromache wryly) left open.  After locking it, he turned to her, studying his daughter carefully.

"Andromache," he addressed softly, his face bestowing a gentle smile.  "I know you are unhappy, but I do not wish for you to leave this place harboring feelings of resentment.  I would be greatly pained if the last memories I would have of you were sad.  You are my only daughter; your inner strength rivals the combined might of my seven sons.  I am proud of you, Andromache."

"Why can you not accompany me to Troy?" she asked, abandoning her anger, knowing it was fruitless now.  "If I am to be married, you should at least be there to preside over the ceremony.  King Priam would surely want to see you after all these years, Father."

King Eetion shook his head.  "Once you are there, it will be even harder to let me go if I were to accompany you," he reasoned.  "I am not going to be a part of your new life in Troy, Andromache.  You must accept that."

"I know, but—" Andromache choked on a sob.  "I'm afraid, Father."

Eetion chuckled softly.  "My darling Andromache, afraid of a man?" he teased lightly, but drew her closer at the genuine look of anguish that crossed her face.  Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held her reassuringly.

"Prince Hector is not to be featred," Eetion promised.  "I met him while he was in his youth.  The boy was very skilled with a javelin and remarkable with a sword.  He is now head of the Trojan army; he will protect you.  And by all accounts he is a good man."

"Who told you that?" questioned Andromache, peering at him intently.

To the princess's dismay, her father laughed again.  "It's nice to see that you're finally interested in the man you're going to marry.  For a while there, I was concerned."

"Father, who told you that he is a good man?" persisted Andromache.  "It would be his father's duty to do so, and if King Priam is responsible for your high opinion of the prince then I fear I shall retain my skepticism."

"King Priam would not lie," Eetion told her solemnly.

"How do you know?" asked Andromache, narrowing her eyes.

"Because I was originally going to arrange your marriage to his younger son Paris," King Eetion revealed.  "He was the better looking of the two lads, so naturally I thought of him first."

Andromache made a sound of disgust when her father winked at her, obviously teasing her again.

"The king told me, after I described you to him, that you would be too strong for Paris," Eetion explained.  "Though Priam loves his youngest son, he says that Prince Hector is the better man to marry.  He will be faithful to you and true to any promise he makes.  Besides, Paris is too short for you."

Giving her father a good-natured shove, Andromache freed herself from his grasp.  "You're hopeless, Father."

"But there's still hope for you yet, Daughter," he countered.  "Perhaps Prince Hector can tame all that strength you have inside you."

"Only the man I love will be able to do that," swore Andromache.

Sighing patiently, King Eetion led his daughter down to where her ship was waiting.  Though the distance over land was shorter, the Caucus Mountains made the journey far more perilous.  Desiring a sound path for his daughter, a ship had been designated to conduct Andromache safely to Troy.  The pier was nearly deserted, but it made no difference.  Andromache was not fond of sentimental farewells.

"This…is possibly the very last time I shall lay eyes on you," Andromache breathed slowly.  "I want to remember it always, fondly in my heart."

Surprising the old king by taking his hands, Andromache squeezed them affectionately and smiled into her father's face.  Considerably older than his daughter, King Eetion's wizened visage smiled back, causing Andromache's eyes to mist as it struck her for the first time how elderly he really was.  Old enough that he might not have survived the journey to Troy.

"It is a shame your brother's are not here to see how beautiful you look," said Eetion sadly. 

"They'd probably make fun of me, Theseus especially," Andromache replied jokingly, though Eetion could detect regret in her eyes.  He knew she would miss them terribly, but they had all joined the army, as was expected, and could not spare time to see their sister off.  Despite her joke, she knew her youngest brother Theseus would miss her most. 

"Yes, but they would still desire to see you before you leave," said Eetion, hands still clasped in Andromache's.  She released his hands and he left them drop at his sides.  Receiving the shock of his life, his daughter crushed him in a powerful embrace.  An abundance of hair was pressed into his face, but Eetion could not have been more content.

"Andromache, I know in my heart there will be a day when you are happily married to Hector and parting with him will pain you a thousand times more than this," promised King Eetion.  "I love you, but when you are loved by him and it will hold deeper meaning.  Make me proud of you, Andromache, even more proud of you than I am at this moment."

Tears escaped Andromache's eyes unabashedly.  "I love you, Father."

Eetion smiled into her hair.  "I love you too, Andromache.  Be happy."

"Thank you, Father," whispered Andromache, turning to leave.  King Eetion stood at the pier long after her ship finally disappeared into the ocean, knowing that she looked back at him long after the shore had slipped from the horizon.


	2. Two

02 

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Paris noted, rather gleefully, that his big brother actually looked…nervous.  Unable to do so very often, Paris took the opportunity to observe his older sibling experience anxiety.  Usually the calm one capable of handling the most difficult situations, Hector was getting bent out of shape over a woman.

_It's only a woman_, Hector scoffed.  _Your brother's been fascinated with them for ages, and you can't pretend that you're exactly inexperienced either when it comes to fairer sex.  But Paris spends all his time seducing them, and you cannot say that you are as terribly sure of yourself in that area.  I cannot foresee a problem staying faithful, because I know I shall stay true to my word.  But what if she would not do the same for me?  What if I marry a woman who cares nothing about the ideals I cherish?_

"What's the matter, Hector?" came the innocent voice of Prince Paris.  The dark, fathomless eyes of Priam's younger son, which had charmed countless women in merely sixteen years of life, now twinkled with unsuccessfully contained mirth.  Errant curls of lush brown hair fell repeatedly across his forehead, despite the youth's constant motions to brush them back.  Flashing his brother a dazzling smile, Paris continued.  "You look a bit…preoccupied, one might say.  Care to tell me what you're thinking about?"

Hector ran his hand through his hair, sighing.  He knew his brother was enjoying himself immensely.  "You know _exactly_ what I'm thinking about.  Can't you just tease me outright and be done with it?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" asked Paris good-naturedly.  "Dodging around the heart of the matter yields the most agreeable results, at least when I'm the one doing the dodging.  Honestly, you're worried about nothing."

"How would you know?" asked Hector exasperatedly.  "You're only sixteen."

"Yes, but I have been with far more women than you," Paris pointed out.  "And you've just turned twenty two."

"Yes, but I've spent the last half of my life trying to develop a military career," Hector explained.  "You've been gallivanting around with women.  _Married_ ones, might I add.  It's not right."

Trying to shake off the sting of his brother's disapproval, Paris grinned.  "I don't force them, now do I?"

"But deliberately setting out to seduce married women is wrong," said Hector firmly.  "It's going to get you into trouble someday."

Paris shrugged.  "But I'll definitely have a better time than you until then.  I still can't believe it.  The thought of spending the rest of my life with one woman is enough to make me shudder."

"One woman is all you need, as long as you love her," said Hector ardently.

"Yes, but this is an arranged marriage we're talking about," Paris pointed out.  "This was set up when you and I were not even ten years old.  I remember him, too…King Eetion…an _old_ fellow, if I recall correctly.  His daughter could be twice your age, realistically."

"I cannot see Father agreeing to _that_," Hector said shortly, trying to dissolve the discouraging image of an aging spinster.  "He would not deliberately arrange for me to marry someone if he were certain it would not work.  In fact, I'm surprised that he even arranged this at all."

"I heard that it was more of a favor than anything," Paris said casually.  "I mean, Thebe is not nearly as protected as Troy, even though it's up in the mountains.  There are far less people and they certainly don't have an army headed by someone as skilled as you, Brother."

Hector brushed off his brother's sincere compliment.  "I still cannot see Father basing a marriage on his friend's desire of protecting his daughter from the possibility of a Greek invasion.  It's too far-fetched, Paris."

"Say what you will, Brother," Paris said.  "Personally, I think he wants you to have an heir and knows you won't get married on your own.  You are always too busy with the army, never taking time off when you need it.  At any rate, I still think that you're worrying too much about the whole thing.  I mean, if she's hideous, you will still have to perform the duty of producing heirs, but all you need is one son.  I mean, if things work out, it would only take one time, and that—Ouch, that hurt!"

"Get lost, Paris," warned Hector.  "I don't need anything else to think about, you've given me enough as it is."

"Then my work is done," said Paris, grinning.  "I shall see you later."

Grumbling at his brother's apparent glee, Hector decided he needed some fresh air.  The crisp air ocean air carried with it the fresh scent of the sea, which beckoned him from the balcony ahead.  Standing on that stone terrace overlooking the beach, Hector watched as a lone ship came into view.  It could be her…his future wife, Andromache.

_She must be exhausted after such a voyage,_ Hector thought.  _All Father told me was that she would turn twenty on the date set for the ceremony.  I have three months to become better acquainted with her before we are joined together forever in the eyes of the gods.  I can imagine that she would be very sheltered living in the mountains, and I don't have the slightest clue how she might react to living in a massive city such as Troy.  Women are my brother's area of expertise, and though I can act sensibly around them I've never had to deal with one so familiarly.  _

Hector sighed at the sound of foot falls approaching.  The steps to heavy to belong to Paris, Hector knew them to be those of his father's messenger.  Indeed, only a moment later he was summoned to his father's chamber.  Respectfully he addressed his father, whose kind blue eyes radiated warmth and intensity.  Though not physically imposing, the strong presence of King Priam was always a source of comfort for Hector.  Strength had many forms, and his father proved that the tenure of wisdom could indeed surpass that of muscle.

"Hector, I wanted to let you know that your bride's ship has arrived on the beaches of Troy," King Priam revealed.  "She is heading to the entry of the city."

Hector bowed his head.  "Then I shall go greet her at the gate," said Hector, bowing.  As he turned to leave, his father stopped him.

"Hector, my son, there is a very urgent matter that you must attend to before meeting her," King Priam said.  "As commander of the Trojan army, there is another task you must deal with before meeting Princess Andromache."

"I mean no disrespect, but does it really require my presence?" Hector asked.  His heart felt conflicted.  "I understand my duty to Troy, but I do not wish to offend my future bride."

"I understand, my son, but this predicament needs to be resolved as quickly as possible," King Priam promised.  "We are having problem with the Greeks in the Dardanelles.  A band of rogues from Lésvos is plundering the merchant vessels and killing the civilians on board.  These attacks threaten all of our trade in the Aegean and they need to be stopped."

"Yes, my king," swore Hector solemnly.  "I shall do as you ask.  The attacks will cease."

"Hector, I apologize for sending you on such an important day, but you know that I cannot dispatch Paris in your stead," Priam apologized.  "He is too young and lacks the skill and strength to end these attacks.  I love him dearly but I fear he will be the downfall of us just as the gods' prophecy forewarned.  But if exposing him on Mount Ida is not enough to quell his spirit, then I suppose I must endure his recklessness until that day comes."

"Father, there is nothing you can do about Paris," Hector advised simply.  "One cannot help acknowledging his faults yet one cannot help but love him."

Priam smiled.  "That is true, I suppose."  He chuckled.  "King Eetion, so many years ago, knew that Paris was not a suitable candidate for marriage to his daughter Andromache."

"And I am?" asked Hector, simply curious.  It was a duty to the state and his family, and he did not question it, yet he often wondered why the arrangement was made for him in mind.

"I would not have deliberately prearranged a marriage for you unless I was absolutely sure it would be a successful one," King Priam pledged.  "For you are to be the future ruler of this city and you will need a queen to produce a legitimate heir.  Left on your own, you would not seek a wife, and without one, the legitimate line of rulers would be broken.  Chaos would erupt if your brother tried to assume power.  Paris will not be a suitable leader nor does he follow the strict line of firstborn heirs, and many will scramble for power and eventually kill him.  Internal strife can tear a country apart."

"I see," Hector replied.  He contemplated this carefully for a moment.  "Then if a queen is what Troy needs, I will oblige.  I love this city and have sworn to serve it.  Please inform the princess that I regret not being able to meet her today.  Farewell, Father.  I shall assure the safety of our vessels in the Dardanelles."

King Priam watched the exit of his eldest son, the son he was the proudest of.  Beyond intelligence and physical power, Hector was also a pillar of strength for the city of Troy.  Young, brave, and honorable were the words used to describe Prince Hector, and he had the respect of men, the admiration of women, and the awe of children. 

_And maybe while you are gone I can attempt to understand this most assuredly headstrong woman,_ thought King Priam.

****

As the loud music of horns and lutes welcomed her when the gates of Troy opened, Andromache was surprised to find that she had no reception party awaiting her arrival.  Feeling awkward and humiliated that her future husband did not receive her at the gate, Princess Andromache stared straight ahead as her chariot proceeded at an agonizingly slow pace.  Ladies in the streets that watched the procession whispered to one another, apparently shocked that she did not ride under the protection of a parasol. 

_It does not matter what they think of me,_ Andromache told herself firmly.  _Prince Hector has slighted me.  An umbrella to shield me from the sun is of no consequence.  The musings of a crowd of simpering ladies does not matter._

As the chariot approached the palace, Andromache allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath.  A flash of irritation tore through her as she registered its shakiness. Grudgingly, she acknowledged her anxiety.

_I cannot believe I'm restless to meet him,_ Andromache admitted, annoyed at the revelation. _ I do not want to be nervous!  I do not want to meet him at all!  He's a rude, arrogant warmonger who did not see it fit to escort me into the city.  _

Ignoring the mortification she felt burning her cheeks, Andromache fluidly stepped from the chariot and onto the palace steps.  A light breeze picked up the white drape of her robe, lifting the folds gently so they rippled in the wind.  Her hair intricately styled and pinned atop her head; her ornaments that rivaled those of the goddesses.

"Princess Andromache," a voice addressed softly, an older man emerging from the palace's grand entryway.  Stark white hair was immediately apparent, even though Andromache knew him to be younger than her own father.  The most intense blue eyes regarded her carefully, looking for signs of anger or agitation.  Andromache was determined she would not give him the satisfaction of losing her temper.

"King Priam?" she asked tentatively, although she knew immediately it was him.  Her father had sung this man's praises to Mount Olympus itself.  Eetion had told her stories of Priam's wisdom and love for his people as well as his children.  A judicious ruler and a devoted father, Andromache could think of no higher compliment for a man. 

"Forgive the absence of my son, Hector," King Priam appealed.  "This very day a very important issue required his attention.  I trust no other man to do it.  He was determined to greet you until I explained the urgency of the matter, and even then he was still hesitant to leave.  He wished me to relay his sincere apologies for what her perceives to be abandonment."

"Even the most prosperous kingdoms must deal with such matters," Andromache conceded graciously.  "If I may ask, what has he been asked to do?"

King Priam looked unconcerned, which Andromache found odd given the circumstances he had just revealed.  "In the Dardanelles, a dangerous group of brigands has been hijacking our boats and stealing their cargo.  The passengers are slain, whether they be merchants or their families.  Hector is the only man I trust to stop these attacks."

"Why is that?" asked Andromache before she could stop herself.

"He is man who inspires the loyalty and love of all Trojans," King Priam replied simply.

"I am not Trojan," Andromache pointed out.  "Can he stir love and loyalty in me?"

Equally taken aback by straightforwardness of her question as well as the earnestness of her voice, King Priam eyes met hers for an endless moment.  Peaceful pools of blue met the infinite gaze of eyes whose poignancy matched Paris.  The colors of a quiet ocean collided against the colors of a restless night.  Against those untamable depths King Priam felt a prisoner to the kind of painful sincerity that he felt he had no responsibility to divulge.

"You are a very brazen woman," King Priam said squarely, breaking the gaze.  "I cannot think that many men tolerate such an demanding trait.  If you were not already obligated to marry my son Hector, is there anyone you would have married back in Thebe?"

"No," Andromache replied evenly.  "But my courage will not be crushed in marriage.  If it is domination over my spirit that your son seeks, I promise he will not conquer me."

"Do you not fear what might happen to you if you remain so forward in an unfamiliar place?" Priam questioned.  "Are you not afraid?"

Andromache paused, carefully preparing her response.  "I am not afraid of what he might do to me, only what I let happen to myself.  Attempts to break me can be made but until I allow myself to be broken, I not lose my identity.  I have watched many women my age forced into submission by their husbands.  The faces of these women once reflected the radiance of Apollo's sun but are now covered by the shadows of Hades' despair.  I pride myself on being strong, and I am to wed a man whose destiny is battle.  The only thing he can wrest from me is my self-respect, but if he and I are ever fated to clash, I fear I will lose."

King Priam regarded the woman sympathetically.  A nineteen year old woman, practically a girl, really, forced to leave her home and family to live in a strange city three hundred miles away.  Set to marry a man whose formidable reputation was known throughout all of Asia Minor as the finest warrior of the greatest army of the strongest city.  Prince Hector was a man who, at the age of two and twenty, had commanded the loyalty of thousands of men since his youth.

"Hector will not seek your defeat, I can promise you that," said King Priam.  "However, everyone has fallen to him.  You may keep your self-respect, but I'm sure you shall find that there are more important things a person has to lose."


	3. Three

03 

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Hector's ship had intercepted a pirate vessel as it was attempting another hijack.  The pirate ship was incredibly fast, a design that Hector was not familiar with.  Too far away to help at the moment, Hector watched helplessly the small pirate vessel overtook the larger merchant one with ease.  Ordering his men to row harder, Hector made preparations to attack.

The Trojan soldiers quickly boarded the overrun boat, whose original occupants were trying to find some form of shelter.  Hector detested fighting on boats, because there was really nowhere to run for any innocent civilians that happened to be trapped onboard.  If the Trojans lost the fight, the pirates would simply go below deck and slaughter all the merchants that huddled there.

The pirates were quick to attack the Trojan army as they disembarked.  Soon the clang of metal weapons colliding filled the air.  Cries, groans, and grunts escaped the mouths of fighting men.  Blood made the wooden deck slippery and slick.  The merchants cowered in the bowels of the ship; their deck was crammed with soldiers and pirates.

Hector raised his sword above his head, successfully blocking the blade of his opponent's weapon.  He parried with ease the series of sword thrusts, and then knocked the weapon out of the unfortunate pirate's hands.  Eyes wide with fear, the pirate simply stared back at the terrifying vision of Hector, who, clad in the magnificent armor of a Trojan general, seemed to embody the visage of impending death.  Hector slowly reached out with his blade, using the tip to fling off the mantle from the pirate's shoulders. 

_He's only a boy,_ Hector thought miserably.  _He's Paris's age…_

At first timid and frightened, the boy no longer seemed to be afraid after his cloak had been knocked away.  The bright sunlight fell upon his newly unobstructed countenance, and with it came a change in feeling. Hector witnessed the terror transform into something else.  It was determination.  It was acceptance.

Hector wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all as he delivered a savage blow to the youth's head.  The boy suffered the hit and fell with a strangled cry, landing in a crumpled heap.  As Hector stood over the fallen body, he closed his eyes tightly, infuriated that he had to fight boys that deserved to still be living as children.

"Hector, there are too many of them!" one of his men exclaimed, attempting to ward off the attacks of three pirates simultaneously.  Deflecting two but taking a hit from the third, the Trojan commander received a nasty wound on his arm.

"We must defeat them!" declared Hector, felling another pirate with his sword.  "We cannot let any more innocent people die.  If we find the leader we may be able to end this quickly."

Amidst the battle, Hector was aware of a figure that appeared to be unaffected by the scenes of carnage.  Not so tall as Hector, the man was no novice when it came to fighting; the sword he carried easily could not be handled so confidently by an amateur.  Sporting a gold necklace, the man fingered the chain with bloody fingers.  Hector narrowed his eyes.

"Are you responsible for these attacks?" Hector demanded angrily.  "Are you the man who has killed dozens of merchants in these waters?"

"I haven't killed anyone," the man said simply.  "I just order my men to."

"You are a dishonorable fiend!" spat Hector.  The vehemence of his proclamation caused the fighting to die down.  The gaze of everyone on the ship was riveted on the scene unfolding before them.

Something flashed in the pirate leader's eyes at the word _dishonorable_.  "I was not always so reprehensible," he said quietly.  "My name is Ilías.  It is true; I am responsible for these attacks.  The men I command are former members of the Greek military."

"Are all of your men really formerly members of the army?" Hector asked bitterly.  "Because I distinctly remember fighting a youth no older than the age of sixteen."

Ilías gazed down, scant feet away, where the body of the boy lay unmoving on the deck.  Blood had pooled around a horrific wound to the head. 

"My son, Arion."  Ilías grimly looked at the boy's features, where blood had dripped down across the cheekbones and lips.  Hector felt his chest tighten as he watched Ilías almost tenderly trace his eyes over his son's ashen, motionless face. 

"He knew there were risks, but he wanted to see our settlement prosper," Ilías murmured softly.  "He did not like that it was at the expense of others, but it had to be done."

"The merchants you slaughtered were no match for you and your men!" reproached Hector.  The sharpness was gone from his voice, but the accusation remained firm.  "Most of them have never held a sword in their life!"

"Then that is their own undoing," Ilías reasoned.  "If they are too rich to learn to fight, then they deserve to die!"

"Not every prosperous person is weak," Hector said.  "And the ability to destroy life does not make one strong; it makes one a _killer_.  The merchants you slaughtered were decent men who made an honest living."

"And how honest are they, _really_?" questioned the pirate leader.  Desperation filled his voice, as well as anguish.  "My people on Lésvos are poor.  We fled Agamemnon's quest for power, and know only how to build ships.  We don't know how to farm, but there is no other way for us to make a livelihood there.  With the meager skills we've been forced to acquire, we've managed to raise fine olive crops.  Yet you Trojans charge us too much for the other kinds of food we need to live, and in turn offer us next to nothing for the precious olive oil you treasure for worshipping the gods you love so much.  Our people do not have the luxury of time to worship gods that do not deign to help us as we struggle to survive."

"I know that Lésvos is in dire need of aid," Hector said, realizing that defending the gods against his opponent's insults would not improve the situation.  "But you could have asked us for our help."

"Ask for help from the same people who slowly bleed us dry?" Ilías asked, drawing his sword.  "I would not think to lower our people any further!" 

Hector blocked the surprisingly strong attack, for the man had not been the typically idle Greek soldier.  Under Agamemnon, most Greeks no longer had individual pride in being strong; no one wanted to train hard to fight for a man who was not their rightful king.  With the exception of the Spartans, this man was the most skilled Greek he had yet fought. 

Hector parried Ilías's next thrust, then barely reacted in time to block after the pirate leader feinted successfully to the left.  Block, block, parry, thrust, block.  Ilías had the physical strength of Hector, but over two decades older.  One had more stamina, but the other had more experience to draw on.

Unable to land a hit, Hector intended to outlast his opponent.  Ilías was not breathing hard after his third series of attacks, and Hector was carefully contemplating a new strategy.  His inspiration came in a heartbeat as Ilías lunged forward.  Dashing forward, the pirate's blow glanced off Hector's shoulder plate.  The impact was jarring; Hector knew he would be feeling the effects of such a blow acutely for several days.

Hector succeeded with his attack, bringing the edge of his blade into contact with Ilías's unprotected flesh.  Hissing with pain, Ilías hand floundered at his leg, which had just received a nasty slice across the kneecap.  Hector removed his helmet, wiping away the sweat that threatened to fall into his eyes.  The prince watched as Ilías brought his hand to his side, away from his wound, and clenched it into a tight fist.

"You killed my son, you Trojan brute," Ilías growled.  "You will not kill me too!"  With a snarl, the pirate launched himself at Hector.  The younger man was no match for the desperate burst of strength, and fell back.  Ilías toppled after him, landing on top of him.  Ilías brought his blade down; Hector jerked his head out of the way, unable to stop the grunt of pain as the sword nicked the bottom of his ear. 

"You do not deserve mercy, Trojan," Ilías hissed lethally.  His breathing had now become labored, his sentence broken by pants.  Eyes trained on his Trojan opponent, Ilías wrenched the blade from the wooden dekc with a sharp twist.  He aimed the tip at Hector's throat.  "Are you not afraid to die?  Are you not angry?"

Breathing hard, Hector met the older man's eyes.  "Troy has treated you unfairly, sir, but I die knowing that I have not," Hector replied.  He turned his head to the side, ignoring the pain of his sliced ear.  Ilías followed the Trojan's gaze to where Arion lay.  The boy was stirring, in a great deal of pain but very much alive.

"Why did you not kill him?" asked Ilías.  Sword still poised over Hector, the man's gaze plumbed the depths of Hector's dark eyes for an answer.

"He is only a boy," Hector said simply.  "I have a brother, the very same age, and I know it would break my father's heart if he were to die.  Such a thing I could not do to any father, whether he be my enemy or not.  I have killed men before, but I cannot bring myself to kill a boy.  He did not deserve it…no child does.  Too many sons die doing their duty to their fathers…after all, it shall be my fate as well."

"Trojan…why do you not hate your enemies?" Ilías questioned.  Slowly, he got up off of the ground, but his sword still remained poised over Hector.  "Why care about them?"

"…It's not caring, so much as realizing something," Hector said, searching for the words through the haze of pain.  "If circumstances were different for you, I could expect to see you someplace else, such as working on our beaches in a shipyard.  Your son would be your apprentice…he would follow your example, for you obviously make fine ships.  You would be helping others with your trade…not marauding the Dardanelles and lowering yourself to the status of a common pirate.   You love your people; I cannot begrudge your loyalty, for it is a trait I honor above all others."

The eyes of both men met for what seemed to be forever.  No one breathed as Ilías's sword descended above Hector's head. 

"I cannot bring myself to kill you," Ilías groaned, slamming the blade angrily into the wooden plank beside Hector's neck.  "Had I not thought you killed my son, I would have never won this match in the first place.  But you spared him…and I have no right to take your life.  You are a noble man…and I could kill you, but I could not defeat you."

Hector sighed deeply and rose slowly to his feet.  His hand went instantly to his ear, which was dripping blood all over his shoulder.  The pain was sharp, intense to the point where Hector feared losing consciousness.  Hector took a moment to clear his head before speaking.

"Ilías, after witnessing your skill at ship making, I would like to extend to you an offer," Hector said.  "Come to Troy and work for us.  Or stay here and build your ships; Troy will buy them for a handsome price.  I will also put an end to the unfair prices that plague you."

With that, Hector traveled to the trapdoor that led below deck.  "You can come out now," Hector informed them.  "They will not kill any of you, if that is what you fear.  However, you will pay them their deserved price for the olive oil you purchased.  When you return to Troy, you will receive new instructions regarding the settlement of Lésvos."

 Ordering his men to pick up their dead and wounded, Hector surveyed the carnage one last time before turning to leave.  He picked up his helmet, wisely deciding to carry it under his arm.  As he was about to disembark, Ilías's voice interrupted him.

"How can you promise that the injustices will end?" Ilías demanded.  "You helped us this time, but how can we be sure you can help?  You're just a soldier."

"He's not just a soldier, he's Pr—" Hector's commander was silenced by a gesture.

"I will bring it to the attention of my father, King Priam," Hector promised.  "He was most likely unaware that such an inequity was taking place."

"You are the son of King Priam?" asked Ilías.

"Yes, my name is Hector," the prince replied.  "I command all of Troy's armies."

Ilías looked perplexed.  "Are you not supposed to be the most skilled warrior in Troy?"

Hector did not smile at this.  "So they say.  It makes no difference to me."

"Then how did I defeat you?" the pirate asked, bewildered.  "You are the best."

"_Did_ you beat me?" Hector asked him softly.  "No one lost.  Peace won."


	4. Four

**4**

**…**

**MaryScot**

**…**

Andromache sighed, pulling her cloak over her head.  The thick, indigo fabric did nothing to promote her beauty but it was very warm, and that was how she preferred.  There was a line of demarcation between looking good and being comfortable, and Andromache figured she had no one to impress.  The season was uncharacteristically cold, and the thin flowing fabrics of Trojan fashion were poor shields against the wind.  

Andromache stood at the entrance, not quite resting against one of the huge stone pillars.  Dread and impatience had warred with her ever since she arrived, but eventually the anticipation won and she longed to meet Hector.  All she had heard of him was good, and she was familiar enough with a palace grapevine to know that no one went through pains to make someone else look good.

"Princess Andromache," called King Priam, beckoning the girl closer.  She had not even heard his approach.  As she neared, he moved closer to meet her as if he meant to share something he did not want everyone to overhear. 

"Yes, King Priam?" she asked.  When she had first arrived, she realized the Trojan king was chipping away at the walls she had erected around her heart.  Those walls had rivaled those of Troy itself, but Andromache had found they were not as strong.  But King Priam was a good man, and quickly Andromache found that he was making her feel more at home.  It was impossible to dislike him, and the man was definitely making an effort to ease her troubled mind.

King Priam also loved his sons dearly, evident as he continued indulging the youngest one, whom Andromache felt was nothing but trouble.  Inordinately charming, young Prince Paris could never claim to be as virtuous as what she was hearing about Hector, yet he had the maids swooning.  Andromache could only hope Hector's priorities were different.

Andromache had kept mostly to herself, catching only glimpses of Paris and the king's niece, Briseis.  Briseis was Paris' age, and Andromache hoped she could later make a trusted confidante.  The romantic tales of Paris' many conquests were notorious, and Andromache knew she could not trust someone with such poor discretion.  The palace servants were always talking about its royal occupants; Andromache learned a great deal from accidentally overhearing countless conversations and whispers. 

"My dear, you're going to have to break your habit of hiding from us," King Priam scolded gently when he reached her side.   "Though you'd best conceal yourself from Paris, for if he actually lays eyes on you for more than a minute, he'll probably fall madly in love."

Andromache smiled, not quite betraying the earlier direction of her thoughts.  "Then I shall not come into his sight, for my heart shall break the very next minute should a palace maid choose to enter the room."

King Priam looked at her amusedly.  "I am fortunate that I have only one son whose eyes wander so freely."

"Then I am relieved that the man I shall marry has both eyes fixed firmly in his head," Andromache murmured.  She paused for a moment before continuing very carefully. 

"Hector sounds like a good man, King Priam.  When I meet him I want to form my own opinion, not rely on what others say to shape it.  But no matter how hard I try, information about him always reaches my ears."

"He is a very respected man," King Priam said, his heart swelling with admiration.  "I could not ask for more.  Hector is the most loyal man I know."  And odd look shone in his eye as he said this, and a strange smile settled over his face.

"…Are you alright, King Priam?" asked Andromache, not recognizing his expression.  She regarded him carefully, realizing then what it was.  Pride. 

"When Paris was ten, he stole my horse from the stable and decided to ride it on the beach.  The horse was a gift from your father, and the animal was a very spirited one.  Paris has no skill with animals, and the beast threw him.  The creature fled, leaving a stunned and anxious prince behind.  Paris ran back into the city, crying in desperation and shame.  But he did not come to me.  He went to Hector."

"Hector?" asked Andromache.  "But why?  It was your horse."

"Yes, but Paris wanted to make it right," explained Priam.  "Paris told Hector what happened, and Hector risked my wrath to stand up for his brother.  Hector told me what happened, and promised to find the horse.  I told him that if it were not found, it would be he who would be punished, not Paris.  And Hector said that was acceptable."

"…Did he find the horse?" inquired Andromache, wondering if it was Hector who received the punishment his brother deserved.

"Yes, he did," King Priam said.  "Hector is quite talented with managing horses.  They trust him explicitly.  It did not take him long.  When the horse was returned, Hector told me that he would not have come back without it."

"Because he didn't want to be punished?" Andromache wondered.

"Because he wanted to help Paris make things right," corrected Priam.  "Paris has good intentions, but he is never able to do things on his own.  Hector recognizes that about his brother and has always done for Paris what he could not do for himself."

Andromache thought this over carefully.  More helpful than anything she had heard from servants, the tale of such loyalty confirmed her greatest fear.

_I will not lose my pride,_ she thought with dismay.  _I might lose my heart._

****

Curious nature unable to be suppressed for very long, Andromache began to spend a lot of time with Briseis, occasionally with Paris.  Both were energetic and good-natured, and they both tried their hardest not to tell Andromache too much about Hector.  Seated at the base of one of the palace's finest fountains, both girls wore the typical white garment of a Trojan maiden.  The indigo cloak, which puzzled Briseis to no end, once again accompanied Andromache but currently the younger girl was focused on her cousin.

"I still wish I could tell you about him," pleaded Briseis, holding Andromache's hands in a gesture of supplication.  "There's so much to say!"

"I want to discover that on my own," Andromache reminded her.  "But I've already heard so much about him already.  He sounds so wonderful…what if he doesn't like me?"

"How can he not like you?" Briseis asked.  "You're so strong!  You can shoot arrows as well as Paris."

Andromache smiled.  "He is far more skilled than I.  I shot five and only four hit the target.  They weren't even all together.  Every single one of his hit within an area the size of his fist, right in the middle of the target."

"But you still shoot very splendidly," Briseis assured her.  "I'm not even allowed to shoot."

"The only reason I can shoot at all is because of my brothers," Andromache told her.  "When you have seven of them, at least one of them manages to find time to teach their baby sister something that might get her into trouble someday.  Besides, I'd much prefer to sew.  I brought countless bolts of rare cloth with me as a dowry, but King Priam refused to take them."

"Why don't you make something for Prince Hector?" Briseis suggested.  "He could probably use a new toga.  He hates having to go through the trouble of procuring clothes, and absolutely abhors having to make visits to the palace tailor.  I'm sure he'd appreciate it very much.  His favorite color is blue."

"I'd feel ridiculous," Andromache said.  "Like some silly little maiden out of the pages of a Greek tale…awaiting the return of her husband anxiously.  I can't imagine being that dependent on anyone."

"But how would that be a bad thing?" Briseis asked.  "Wouldn't you like to feel completely safe in someone's arms…someone who could give you everything you'd ever hope for?"

"I want a man, not a warrior," Andromache murmured.  "And I want love, not protection.  Hector's marrying me out of duty, not love, and I have no right to expect anything from him.  I don't want to fall in love with him."

"Oh, it wouldn't be bad to fall in love with him," consoled Briseis, moving to embrace the older girl.  Andromache did not cry, but a look of pensiveness had descended upon her features.

"Yes it would," Andromache whispered.  "He will owe everything to Troy as its ruler.  That will always come first…the love of others, not my own.  I don't like being selfish…but it's so hard to accept."

"Why don't we go out in the city…maybe it'll cheer you up," suggested Briseis.  "Perhaps we could find you some papyrus for drawing and—"

"Drawing papyrus?" asked Andromache, a peculiar strain to her voice.  "What made you suggest that?"

"Oh, when Paris sneaks around at night he said he sometimes sees you outside with slips of papyrus.  He's never gotten close enough to see what you're doing, which is none of his business, but he suspects you've been drawing.  He wonders why you do it late at night.  Isn't it hard to see?"

"No," Andromache replied softly.  "I draw at night because it's so peaceful.  The torches in the garden are exquisite…somehow it reminds me of home.  It's quiet, wide open, and the firelight just…makes me feel better about being here.  And the irises…they're so lovely.  My mother loved irises very much…but she was killed when I was very young.  Artemis herself shot her in our palace."

"Why do you like them if they make you sad?" Briseis asked.

"They don't make me sad, they just remind me of her," Andromache mused.  "They've always been my favorite flower, but they die so quickly.  There was an apothecary in Thebe who could seemingly use all the parts of the iris."

"Like what?" Briseis asked.  Such practices had always entranced her, which was why she took such satisfaction in the ceremonial prayers at the temple.  The olive oil, incense, and spices were fascinating.  

"Well, he used the dried stems to make orris root powder, which he used in deliciously scented perfumes," gushed Andromache, not caring that she sounded uncharacteristically childish.  At home with seven brothers and a father, she had not the opportunity to indulge in her feminine side and was now relishing her current audience.

"What else did he do?" Briseis persisted. 

"He dried the stamens and used them to extract the most beautiful dye I've ever seen," Andromache sighed.  "He told me it was called saffron, and the most astonishing yellow shade it produced was as vibrant as the sun."

"I think my mother told me about it before," Briseis said.  "But it is incredibly complicated to extract and is completed meticulously by hand.  I'm told it is very rare…I cannot think of anyone in Troy who might have any at the moment, but I'm sure if we look into it some can be found."

"What of the orris root powder?" Andromache asked.  "I'd much prefer to find that.  My mother bought me a bottle when I was a little girl, a gift for me to save for sentiment, I suppose, instead of immediate use.  One of my brothers knocked it down by accident when I was twelve.  I'd really like to find some again, just for the sake of having it back."

"Hmm," pondered Briseis.  "I've never heard of orris root powder though.  I've never even heard of that before."

"Oh," Andromache said softly.  "I was hoping I could find it here…this is such a large city and I had hoped—"

"Why don't we look for some?" suggested Briseis.  "I'm sure we shall find some of that perfume somewhere.  The vendors on the beach could have it, or at least be able to tell you where to find some."

Briseis feared that Andromache might refuse, for the conversation's recently pensive turn had seemed to depress her.  But she appeared to have brightened at the prospect of a search, and to the younger woman's relief, agreed to go.

****

Weary from his demanding mission, Hector smiled in relief when the city of Troy came into the horizon.  Keen to straighten out the situation in the Dardanelles out with his father, Hector wished fervently that he were already back home.  The excruciating wound on his ear had nearly healed, but it still caused quite a lot of pain, which Hector had learned the hard way when he attempted to slip his helmet back on once they had disembarked from the merchant ship.

_I hope I can rest before meeting the princess_, thought Hector grimly. _ My armor reeks of blood and must look like absolutely wretched.  I'd frighten any prospective bride out of her wits._

Ordering his men to prepare to land, Hector ran over the information he'd present to his father one last time.  Shortly after, the men disembarked, met by a small party sent as soon as their sail were spied on the horizon.  Several Trojans accompanied by horses rushed to meet them on the beach.

Hector hated the sea and relished the idea of riding his horse again.  It was the horse than Paris had stolen as a boy, which Priam had allowed Hector to keep after it was returned.  The gesture surprised the older son, but the Priam told him warmly that it would prove more useful to a man capable of unleashing its full potential.

The familiar bustle of the market was welcoming, and the many booths and vendors scattered across the beach made him happy.  Troy was such a wealthy, flourishing city and it was truly its occupants that made the city richer.  Everyone did their part contribute to the society, and the beach was filled with all kinds of customers, from royalty to farmers.

The people were so accustomed to seeing their prince amongst them that most went about their daily business after a brief wave or smile in his direction.  Hector returned their gestures graciously, savoring the return to relaxing familiarity.  He would fight anyone to be able to come back to this.

_I'd best return and tell Father what happened,_ Hector remembered.  _And Paris, I'm sure, has plenty of horror stories he cannot wait to tell me about my future bride._ 

"Hector!" a voice called, and Hector stopped his horse.  He did not dismount; instead he waited for her to reach him.  White gown billowing, she ran to her cousin.

"Briseis," he answered fondly, smiling at her and taking her hand.  "It's nice to see you.  Why don't you head back to the castle?  I'm headed there now; we can talk later."

"I'm with Andromache," Briseis explained.  "I left her to shop by herself, so I don't know—"

"You let her lose on the market with no one to watch her?" Hector demanded.  "It is not a safe place for anyone, let alone someone new.  If a vendor doesn't swindle her then she's sure to fall prey to a pickpocket.  And you should have brought Paris with you, Briseis.  You're only sixteen."

"She can handle herself without my help," Briseis said.  "And I can handle myself without _your_s.  Stay right here, I'm going to go find her."

"Forget it," groaned Hector, exhaustion and irritation seeping into his voice.  "I'm tired, filthy, and I need to talk with my father.  I have to go."

"Fine, go!" snapped Briseis, uncharacteristically curt.  "I'll just tell her you've got more important things to do than to talk to her."

"Briseis, that's unfair," Hector growled.  "She will just have to wait.  Give her my apologies, but I simply must be on my way."  With that, Hector urged his horse to the gate.  At a steady trot, he headed steadily away from his angry cousin.

"You can apologize _yourself_!" Briseis called after him.  "If you ever decide to meet her, that is!"

As Hector rode away from the furious girl, a wisp of brilliant violet flitted across his vision.  For some reason he could not explain, it captured his attention.  He sought the image again, but could not see it before him.  His head turned, catching another short-lived glimpse of the fabric before it disappeared again.  Unable to explain why it was even remotely important, Hector entered the city gate.


	5. Five

**5**

**…**

**MaryScot**

**…**

Absolutely fuming, Briseis fervently sought her companion.  The girl's anger was apparent, for when she found Andromache, the older woman knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Did something happen?" Andromache asked, noting the trembling lower lip and unusually fierce expression. 

Trying not to throw her arms up and scream, Briseis clenched her hands tightly at her sides.  "It's nothing."

Knowing it unwise to pursue the matter while Briseis was in such a stormy mood, Andromache backed off.  "…Alright."

"Oh, it was _Hector_!" Briseis burst forth immediately, unable to contain her temper.

"Hector?" Andromache asked, puzzled.

"He was just here!" wailed Briseis.  "He said he didn't have time to meet you.  He also said you and I needed a chaperone!  The _nerve_!"

"Briseis, it's alright," Andromache soothed.  Her hands reached down to Briseis's to coax them out of fists.  "The next time I come out here, I'll bring one.  And I'm sure he really _is_ pressed for time if he just returned."

"You should have _seen_ him!" declared Briseis.  "He was leisurely riding across the beach!  There was not a thought on his mind until he saw me.  Then all of the sudden he _had_ to leave!"

Trying not to let this bother her, Andromache tried to pacify the girl.  "I don't mind, Briseis.  It's really alright."

"Let's go back to the castle," Briseis said suddenly.  "I apologize, but I am not much in the mood for shopping.  Oh, we didn't even get to buy you some new papyrus!"

Wheeling around abruptly towards the beach, Briseis was stopped by Andromache, who redirected them back on their path home.  The latter tried to keep the pace slow in an attempt to calm the other down.

"That's alright," reassured the princess.  "I can do without it for a few nights.  Instead of drawing I can ask Paris where he goes every night…catching him on the way home from a late-night excursion will lift my mood."

Briseis giggled at the image of Paris creeping stealthily through the garden, rather smugly, too, until his future sister-in-law suddenly caught him.  "It's a shame you don't have more papyrus.  You could draw an excellent portrait of his perfectly horrified expression."

"There would be no need to lie in wait, for I have completely memorized it by this point," Andromache assured.  "Besides, if I catch him he might be so embarrassed that he'll skip a night, and that just wouldn't be Paris."

"He has been sneaking around a bit more than normal, here of late," Briseis said, stopping suddenly in the middle of the street.  "I wonder what he could be doing?"

"I don't know," Andromache shrugged.  "Maybe there's something he needs to make arrangements for."

"Oh, there's the festival of Apollo!" exclaimed Briseis.  "That's it!  It lasts for seven days, and each day Paris finds a different lovely maiden to charm.  He spends a day with her, buying her trinkets, playing games, dancing…then seduces her at night.  He's been doing this for the last two years, and it's simply appalling."

"He started when he was _fourteen_?" Andromache gaped, not caring that she looked ridiculous. 

"Yes, and those poor women didn't have an inkling," sighed Briseis.  "Paris says he's 'honoring' the gods…it's shameful, really."

"Does everyone attend this festival?" questioned Andromache, curiosity piqued.  She wondered if it was exclusively for the farmers, like one of her celebrations in Thebe, or if everyone could join in.

"All kinds of people show up," said Briseis.  "King Priam puts in an appearance, but says he's getting too old to go every night.  Families attend with their children, but the most enthusiastic participants are between the ages of thirteen and twenty five."

"Why is that?" asked Andromache. 

"Because it's a very popular time for young men to begin courting women," exclaimed Briseis happily.  "Vendors set up stalls which offer a variety of flowers, gifts, and jewelry.   The men are always trying to impress the women.  Friends go to spend time together, and it really is a lot of fun."

"Why is it named for Apollo?" wondered Andromache.  The girls had reached the palace, and paused on the steps as Briseis attempted to find some justification.

"Well, the temple on our shore is devoted to him, and he is the patron god of our city," Briseis explained, "but you already knew that.  The last day of the festival ends on the summer solstice, when the sun shines the longest."

"Oh," Andromache muttered, thoughts racing.  _I hope Hector decides to invite me to the Festival of Apollo…but I don't see him as the type who would enjoy parading a woman around and showering her with gifts._

"Oh, you've got me all concerned about Paris," wailed Briseis, interrupting Andromache's thoughts.  "I wonder what he's up to?  Who could possibly require this much scheming?  Before you said it, I didn't even think that might be why he's been gone so much!"

Andromache chuckled.  "Don't concern yourself with that.  Paris is certainly a persuasive man…no doubt you'll find out soon enough who he plans to charm."  With that, Andromache disappeared into the palace.

"I suppose you are right," Briseis conceded, calling after her, "But I want to know _now_!"

****

Hector felt a sensation of tranquility fill him as he entered the gates, for the city was always happy to see his return.  Helmet carried under his arm grandly, he traveled on horseback through the streets until he reached the palace entrance.

"Hector!" a voice exclaimed, breaking the strange, disconnected feeling that had settled in Hector's thoughts.  Head snapping at attention, he met the charming grin of Paris.  Slipping off his saddle, the older man headed straight for his brother.

"Hello, Paris," he greeted warmly, embracing the younger man heartily.  "It's been an eternity.  How is everyone?"

"Anxiously awaiting your return," answered Paris, barely able to contain his happiness.  He hurried Hector to the throne room, and the older man followed, unable to resist the eagerness of his lively usher. 

"How have things been around here?" Hector asked, hoping for some information on the sorely neglected Andromache."

"With only me around for six weeks, Father was beginning to miss you terribly,"  
confided Paris.  "How did things go in the Dardanelles?  I'll bet you killed all those pirates by yourself."

_He's so young_, Hector thought, heart warmed by his brother's blind admiration.  _I can't ever see him growing out of his boyish charm._

"I'll tell you when I see Father," promised Hector, entering the throne room with Paris.  His father stood, as did the members of his father's advisory committee.  Priam embraced his son then bade him reveal the outcome of the conflict.

"I shall send some of Troy's most prominent ship builders to Lésvos to inspect their work," King Priam pledged.  "With faster transportation, we could both benefit from faster trade.  The Greeks would be no match for us in the Dardanelles, let alone the entire Aegean."

"And of the tariffs on their olive oil?" Hector asked.

"The merchants will have new instructions for Lésvos," promised the king.

"We can offer them a special trade arrangement in return for their shipbuilding services."

"Thank you," breathed Hector gratefully.  "And Your Highness, I would like to have a word with you in private, if I may."

"Of course," Priam agreed, giving the signal for his advisors to leave.  Paris left too, although not as readily, and soon the king and his son were alone.

"Father, could you tell Princess Andromache that I wish to speak to her later?" requested Hector.

"Can you not do that yourself?" inquired King Priam, smiling at Hector's discomfort.

"You see, she might have seen me earlier and did not get the chance to speak with her," Hector explained.  "Besides which, I must look absolutely terrifying."

"I'm sure that does not matter to her," said Priam.  "She's been very anxious to meet you, my son."

"Why is that?" Hector wondered, bewildered.

"Well, it's natural to want to know about the person you're going to marry," Priam pointed out.  "Everyone has been willing to tell her all about you, but she is determined to find out herself.  Here of late, she's been waiting with Briseis for you to return, but I guess she missed you today."

_If she did, Briseis certainly didn't_, thought Hector wryly.  "I still don't see why she'd want to learn more about me.  I'm not terribly interesting."

"Hector, she's going to be your _wife_," Priam stressed, nearly on the brink of exasperation.  "She knows she's expected to produce _children_ with you.  It's only natural for her to be curious about the man she's going to spend the rest of her _life_ with."

_Maybe I'm thinking about this too much in terms of a contract, not a marriage,_ Hector thought.  _It's know it's my duty, but…_

"Hector, go make yourself presentable," King Priam said suddenly.  "It's about time she spent time with you!  With all but Briseis and Paris to—"

"Paris?" interrupted Hector.  He paused a moment, not quite sure of the reason behind his outburst.  He worded his next question carefully.  "How much time has Paris been spending with her?"

"No more time than she spends with Briseis, but since those two girls are usually together, quite a bit, I'd imagine," reasoned King Priam.  "Usually it's the three of them…Paris and Briseis are quite keen to learn about her family like back in Thebe.  Both of them adore her, and Paris even mentioned to me that if you didn't return in time for the Festival of Apollo in next, he would take her himself."

Hector said nothing, nor did his face reveal what he thought.  This little bit of information bothered him, for Paris would not normally take actions that might interfere with his personal campaign of enchanting women.  Hector knew his brother would not come between him and his wife, so he was more than a little puzzled when his father revealed the two were very close.

"At any rate, I expect that you will be accompanying her then," King Priam said.  "I'll have to break the news to your poor brother.  He was very excited."  He turned to make his exit.  "I shall send a servant to inform Princess Andromache that you wish to eat dinner together in your room.  It will give you both a chance to get to know one another."

"Is that really proper, sir?" asked Hector, stopping his father from leaving the room.  "We are not yet married."

Priam shrugged.  "Briseis or Paris can accompany you.  I suppose you could eat in one of the gardens instead.  I'm told that Princess Andromache is especially fond of the garden at night."

"I suppose Paris told you that, too?" asked Hector irritably.

"Yes, I think he did," King Priam said cheerfully, noticing the sour look that currently inhibited his oldest son's features.  "Don't worry, Paris has not proclaimed his love yet.  Lack of companions her age points her to either Briseis or Paris, and she can't be with the first one all the time.  She's much too smart to fall in love with your brother, but she doesn't mind in the slightest that at least one of my sons isn't avoiding her."

"I'm not avoiding her, I just got back!" growled Hector.  "Briseis said the same thing earlier when I saw her.  I have not set out to deliberate offend her!"

"I jest, do not worry yourself," assured King Priam.  "Andromache can invite whom she wishes tonight.  The garden it is, I take it?"

Hector nodded brusquely.  "The garden will suffice."

"I'm not sending you to an execution," groaned Priam.  "I know you think it's your duty to marry this girl, but I think you will be surprised.  Duty does not always have to feel like an obligation."

Hector sighed.  "Father, I have to attend to several matters before I can even think about dinner.  I shall see you later."  With a respectful bow, Hector departed the throne room, nearly walking straight into his brother who was standing no more than five feet from the door.

"Where you _eavesdropping_?" demanded Hector, not needing an answer after spying his brother's sheepish grin.

"Before you say anything, I would like you to know that I would be _delighted_ to accompany you and Andromache at dinner this evening," Paris said quickly, both hands were raised in a gesture of surrender.  "I saw Andromache and Briseis not a moment ago, and the latter said she was too angry with you to see you for the rest of the day.  So I guess that makes three of us, Brother."

"What are you trying to do, Paris?" whispered Hector lethally, coming perilously close to his brother.  "I know you like playing your games with women, but _this_ one is most definitely not yours!"

"Actually, she's a bit too…how can I put this…large for my taste," Paris admitted.  "And growing up with seven brothers has made her decidedly independent too.  I want a woman who adores me, but I don't think adoration is what I want from her.  I'm not out to seduce her; I swear it.  She is simply unlike any other woman I've ever met.  She's very alluring without taking appearance into account."

Hector gave his brother a strange look.  "I've never heard about you spending time with a woman without basing it on her beauty," Hector mused.  "Frankly, the idea is completely foreign to me.  You honestly mean to say that regardless of how she looked you would still find her company enjoyable?"

"Yes, absolutely," Paris swore solemnly.  "Andromache is an amazing woman, Hector."

Hector looked skeptically at the younger man.  "You've said that a hundred times, each time about a different woman."

"But Andromache is different," Paris swore, sighing pensively.  "You shall see."


	6. Six

**6**

**…**

**MaryScot**

**…**

"Are you sure this is safe up here, Paris?" Andromache asked doubtfully, looking down.  Perched nearly two-dozen feet above the ground, she sat on the cold stone rim of the fountain's utmost tier.  Her gown was pushed up past her knees so her feet could play lightly in the cool water.

"I've been sitting up here ever since I was a boy," Paris reassured her.

"You're still a little boy _now_," Andromache countered.  "You haven't outgrown it yet, Paris."

Narrowing his eyes playfully, Paris dipped his hand in the water and gave her a light spray.  Ignoring it, Andromache merely crossed her arms and frowned, turning her head away.

"I don't really want to grow up that badly, anyway" Paris sniffed, feigning injury at her comment.  "My brother grew up ages ago, and since then he does not have nearly as much fun as he used to.  I enjoy myself far more, if I do say so myself."

"Your brother is celebrated for his good judgment," Andromache rebuked.  "You are notorious for your immorality.  There is quite a difference, and I am sorry to point out that you have the noticeable disadvantage."

Paris gave her a strange look, almost as if her were hurt by what she said.  "Am I so lowly in your opinion, then, that you would decline to spend the first day of the Festival of Apollo in my company?" asked Paris quietly.

"Paris, I know why you invite women to the festival," Andromache replied softly.  "I do not wish to admit it, but I question your motives in asking me."

"But I do it because I want you to spend time with me," Paris beseeched earnestly. 

Andromache locked gazes with him for what seemed to be an eternity, seeking the genuineness of his feelings.  "Then I shall spend the first day with you, but it will be as your friend."

"It would not be anything more than that," Paris agreed.  "If you were not promised to Hector, I would most definitely pursue you.  But I love my brother more than anyone and would not think to take what belongs to him.  However, you are not his yet, and though I do not wish to make you mine in the sense that you imply, once you marry him I will not be able to spend time so freely with you."

"Oh Paris…just because I will marry your brother does not mean that I will never be able to talk to you," promised Andromache.  "Besides, Aphrodite promised you the world's most beautiful woman, and she will make you forget all about me."

"You say that, but still…what if beauty isn't everything?" Paris asked earnestly, wounded when Andromache threw back her head and laughed.  "Why are you laughing at me, Andromache?  I'm being serious!"

Wiping away the tears of mirth, Andromache took a moment to collect her composure.  On the brink of speech, Andromache succumbed to another fit of laughter. 

Paris sighed with dismay.  "Honestly, Andromache, I meant what I said.  What if I meet her and she does not love me back?"

"Paris, Aphrodite _promised_ that you would win this woman's heart," comforted Andromache.  "And knowing your sincerity, she could not help but return your feelings.  You can fall in love with her knowing that she will love you back.  That should be the most hopeful feeling in the world."

"I guess that's true," replied Paris thoughtfully.  "Are you not afraid about marrying my brother?"

"Of course I am," Andromache said, her voice a mere whisper.  She looked down, her gaze riveted on the water that pooled around her ankles.  "What if I were to fall in love with him?  I cannot expect of him the same.  If I love him…I would be surrendering my entire being.  Everything would be for him, and nothing would be left for me.  All that I treasure about myself would serve no purpose beyond that of enriching him, and all sense of self would be lost."

Paris tilted her face up so she was looking into his eyes.  "Andromache, love is not an admittance of defeat," he said.  "It's a declaration of strength.  Love does not take away from you and weaken you, it adds to you and makes you strong."

"Do you really know what love is then?" Andromache asked, voice raw with sincerity.  Paris drew her into a soothing embrace as she continued to voice her doubts.  "Can you promise me that what you say is really the truth?"

"Of course I can," Paris assured her confidently.  "I'm a specialist when it comes to such matters."

"A _midnight_ specialist," Andromache grumbled, eyeing him warily.  "It's a wonder you can learn anything, seeing as how all your experience happens when the lights are out.  Is it difficult to earn your _credentials_ in the dark?"

"That's unfair!" Paris cried indignantly.  "Not every step I take towards love happens in the bedroom!"

"Yes, of course…there are those steps you take in the garden at night," reminded Andromache.  "But they lead you to the bedroom, so they make no difference."

"That was cruel!" Paris growled, his arm plunging into the fountain to bring a spray of water splashing over Andromache's clothes.

"Paris, that water is _cold_!" exclaimed Andromache, shivering.  Narrowed eyes conflicting with a sweet smile, she returned his gesture, sending a torrent of water spattering across his face.

"You're going to pay for that!" Paris pledged, darting forward and grabbing her wrist to prevent her from getting more water on him.  Andromache shrieked, using her free hand to knock his other arm away.  Laughing and splashing, both of them tried to gain the upper hand, and when Paris succeeded in seizing both arms, Andromache wrenched away violently, poised dangerously on the slippery floor of the fountain basin.

"It seems neither of us are going to win," Andromache conceded, for he was stronger but she was faster.  "Truce?"

"Truce," Paris swore solemnly, taking her outstretched hand.  Wrenching her towards him, he grinned.  "Tricked you!"

Andromache laughed, trying desperately to wring her arm free.  She gave him playful shove, gasping in horror when he lost his balance.  As her eyes followed his descent, she unconsciously climbed down the fountain.  She hurried down the stone structure, running over to where he lay.

****

Hector stood in his room, gazing serenely from the windows of his room.  The sun was setting, and he knew that he was expected to finally meet Andromache tonight.  He did not want to think himself nervous, but anxiety was all he felt.  A bath had cleared away the scent of blood, but Hector wondered what else there really was to himself besides battle.

_I'm not meant to be anyone's husband,_ thought Hector firmly.  _I don't know the finer points about making a woman happy.  She might entirely resent being here, forced into marriage by an arrangement made when she was only a small child._

Straightening his blue toga, he wondered why he was so partial to the color.  A rich shade of cobalt, the fabric was otherwise plain.  He did not care for the sea, but the color of it soothed him for some reason. 

_Perhaps because it looks nothing like blood or armor_, reasoned Hector.  _It's calm and tranquil, but passionate and enduring_

Shaking his head at the uncharacteristically symbolic turn of his thoughts, Hector decided that delaying the inevitable was not going to make this any easier.  He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture one might at best call a nervous propensity.

_If she is accustomed to the company of my brother, then she will be in for quite a surprise when she is in mine,_ thought Hector grimly.  _Though not humorless by any stretch of the imagination, my brother will never be as serious as I.  Nor will I ever be such an attraction for women._

Hector spotted two people through an open window overlooking the garden, and both were standing on the top tier of the palace's most elegant fountain.  They seemed to be fighting at first, but neither had a weapon and laughter could be heard from the pair.

_Idiots_, Hector thought irritably.  _They're going to kill themselves up there.  _

As he traveled down the hall towards his destination, he reached the garden just in time to see one person give the other a hearty shove.  Tumbling more than twenty feet to the bottom, the fallen man was shortly joined by his companion, who seemed to be making quite a fuss.

Hector could plainly see that the person lying motionless on the grass was Paris, but from his perspective he could also plainly see that Paris was very much alive, unable to contain his mirth at the situation.  Obviously planning to scare the poor recipient of his ill-conceived practical joke, Paris attempted to maintain the appearance of death.

Approaching in a manner that spoke of urgency and guilt, Paris's attacker gently knelt on the ground beside him, her back to Hector.  Dark head bent, she cautiously peered at the motionless face of his brother.

"Paris?" she whispered hopefully, lightly touching his face.  She carefully brushed his hair from his forehead.  When she received no answer, her voice succumbed to choked sobs.  "Paris!"

"Tricked you again!" Paris exclaimed brightly, jumping up and nearly knocking over the astonished girl.

Hand clutched to her chest, Hector thought the girl to be perilously close to unconsciousness.  To his surprise, she lunged at Paris, nearly striking him in the head with her outstretched hands.

"I thought I hurt you, Paris!" she growled angrily.  "I thought I'd _killed_ you!  Why did you let me believe that I did?  Don't you care that you made me feel absolutely _awful_?"

"I didn't know you'd get angry," Paris admitted weakly.  That much was apparent, for the youth looked absolutely crushed at causing his companion anguish.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't talk to me," the girl ordered, whirling around to face Hector but not seeing him, for she was staring pointedly down.  She stormed off towards the garden's exit, nearly colliding with Hector.

Looking up at just the right moment, the wounded girl lifted her deep brown eyes to met Hector's, whose irises were equally dark and forceful.  The warrior met her gaze evenly, but he did not challenge her with it.  He saw the anger and hurt in her eyes but received it with persistence and thoughtfulness. 

_It's him,_ Andromache thought sorrowfully.  _Those eyes need not fight to influence me.  All he has to do is look and I allow him the power of persuasion.  I promised myself that I would not allow myself to be restrained by another…but his control far outmatches my own.  Unruliness is no match for him…_

An immeasurable length of time stretched between the two.  As Andromache stepped past him, their gaze continued, both heads turning so as not to break the connection.  Recognizing that she could not hope to save her heart, Andromache turned her heard sharply, breaking eye contact.  Puzzled, Hector's eyes continued to follow her escape, long after she had fled.

"Andromache!" Paris called after her, trying to give chase.  His brother stopped him, and the youth obediently complied.  Hector suspected the submission had something to do with Paris's surprise at how events had just transpired.

"Are you really alright?" Hector questioned seriously, addressing the most relevant situation at the moment.

"Oh, a few bumps and bruises, but I shall be fine," Paris said, regaining his fretfulness to find her.  Apprehension returned, and he could not stand still as he talked. "She gave me a light push, and I thought it might be funny to fall from the fountain.  You know I've done it countless times before and have never gotten hurt, so I didn't really see the harm.  I guess I just wanted her to feel sorry for me."

"Feel _sorry_ for you?" asked Hector incredulously.  "Why in Apollo's name did you want her to feel sorry for you?

"Well, she was quite rough on me before you got here," Paris said.  "She told me that all I know of love is in the physical sense."

"But that's _true_, Paris," Hector told him pointedly. 

"Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?" Paris asked resentfully.  "Is it because I'm young?"

"It's because you're a fool," corrected Hector honestly, much to his brother's chagrin. 

"Okay, so perhaps what I just did to her was unwise, but I didn't want to make her mad," Paris said.  "Really!" he proclaimed as Hector shook his head.

"Brother, I think it might be best if you avoid her for a time," Hector suggested.  "Why don't you go eat dinner in your room tonight?  I'll go see if I can convince her to eat something."

"Can you apologize for me?" requested Paris.  "_Please_?  I hate asking you for things, and I always feel guilty that I do.  But I'd feel so much better if you did, at least so maybe she would be more willing to listen to mine when I have the courage to face her.  I know what I did was mean…I just didn't think."

His brother's earnestness almost painful, Hector nodded.  "I'll do that for you, but you've got to promise me something."

"What's that?" asked Paris. 

"Think twice next time before tricking someone into believing they've killed you."

Sporting a lopsided grin, Paris clapped Hector on the shoulder.  "Just remember that she can be quite a handful, Brother.  And depending on which part you're talking about, it might be a little more than that!"

Paris narrowly dodged his brother's strike.

"Get out of here, you miserable little scoundrel," scolded Hector, "lest I decline to apologize for you!  I swear, you will never learn how to behave properly."

"I don't suppose I ever will," admitted Paris sheepishly.  "But I'm genuinely sorry that I hurt her.  I'm genuinely sorry when I hurt anyone!"

"I'll try to remember that the next time you get yourself into trouble and ask me to get you out of it," Hector grumbled, bracing himself for the daunting task ahead. 

Hector traipsed grumpily though the halls to the kitchen, compiling a tray of light food.  Fruit, cheese, and a goblet of wine were balanced easily on the slate of silver.

_As if making formal introductions to my future wife is not already difficult_, Hector thought dismally on his way to Andromache's room.  _Now I've allowed myself to be duped into apologizing for the senselessness of my younger brother.  Why is it that the idea of fighting off pirates in the Dardanelles does not sound as awful as it did a month ago?_


	7. Seven

**7**

**…**

**MaryScot**

**…**

Sitting at her dresser in an attempt to regain her composure, Andromache felt her fury inevitably manifest itself into some kind of physical action. Suddenly the sensation of her hair touching the back of her neck was absolutely unbearable, so she ruthlessly pulled it up and back, securing it tightly. Throwing a handful of gold pins in her lap, she set to work, her fingers angrily completing the task.

_I can't believe I looked a complete fool in front of Hector_, thought Andromache heatedly. _And I can't believe Paris tricked me into thinking that I had actually killed him! If he were here right now I just might! I felt so inconceivably terrible and he just _let_ me! He's so careless that one day he really will get himself killed._

A loud knock on her door caused her to stand abruptly, sending a shower of gold pins falling on the floor. Throwing up her hands in a gesture of frustration, she glared angrily at the barrier between them.

"Go away, Paris, I have not the patience to deal with you!" she warned, storming over to the door.

"It is not Paris, Princess Andromache," came the reply. "It is Hector."

A feeling of helplessness washed over Andromache, who rested her head against the door. "This is going to sound terribly impolite of me, but I don't think it would be wise to visit me at the moment. I'm not in the best of moods, one might say."

"That does not matter, for you deserve the honor of one after waiting for me so long," Hector told her respectfully.

Andromache sighed and straightened up, unlatching the door. Looking at the awkward smile of the prince, she could not help but smile back. Though his coarse beard aged him considerably, his smile seemed to reverse that affect. Strength seemed to radiate from him, as did vitality and spirit. The tanned skin was smooth and youthful still, and his hair seemed to surpass the unruliness of his brother's.

Andromache watched in enthrallment as he brought his hand up to comb his fingers through his hair, the tangled mess of curls becoming even more disordered. Anyone who knew Hector well would have recognized this as a sign of nervousness, but Andromache could only think of how composed he seemed to be.

Andromache could not erase the swelling or redness of her eyes and knew she looked foolish. She smiled back at him timidly, more in embarrassment than anything else, her eyes dark eyes beginning to light up with cheer.

Hector noted that her colors were slightly different than a Trojan woman's. Curly, chestnut colored hair was pulled back, rather severely at the moment, but the auburn undertones contrasted beautifully with the gold pins. Warmly hued skin touched by a hint of bronze seemed to glow from the candlelight which backlit her remarkably. Studying her face for quite a time longer than was deemed polite, he took notice of her fine, narrow nose, gently arching brows, and amazingly well built cheekbones.

_She has freckles_, Hector thought dumbly, irritated that he could not think of something clever.

Hector took a breath before speaking. "I would like you to consider having some dinner," he offered, gesturing to the tray he held in one hand. "Paris can cheat a woman out of a lot of things, but her own dinner should not be one of them."

"I'm not hungry," Andromache told him truthfully. "I can't stop thinking about what happened earlier. I feel like such a fool. You cannot imagine how bad I felt when I saw him lying there, completely motionless."

"Actually, I can, for he has done similar things to me," Hector admitted. "And his antics are not worth your valued tears. If I cried for every time he has caused me trouble, you would be fighting a flood at your doorstep."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Andromache apologized, realizing that he was standing patiently at the threshold, still bearing a tray of food. "Come in."

Hector entered, setting her food on her dresser. He motioned to a small crystal box sitting beside her mirror. In the figure a half moon, the shape struck Hector as unusual. "May I?"

"Yes, just be careful," warned Andromache, hurrying around her room to lower her curtains. Basically openings in the walls of stone, the windows were designed to provide light, but not necessarily protect from bad weather. Since most of the palace's open spaces were protected, it tended not to matter, but Andromache's room was on the perimeter.

Heeding her advice, Hector opened the box, the gentle motion barely disturbing the many contents. "What happened?" he asked momentarily, nudging the pieces with his fingertip.

"I broke it," admitted Andromache. "The night before I left Thebe. It was a mother of pearl comb that belonged to my mother. It's ruined, but I cannot bring myself to abandon the pieces."

Hector looked uncomfortable. "Am I correct in guessing that I am the reason you broke it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Andromache snapped good-naturedly, sliding the lid shut and whisking it out of is grasp. She set it gently back on the dresser. "I broke it while I was angry at father for making me leave."

"Do you still feel that way?" Hector asked bravely, but thought it very important to know.

"I'm not mad at Father, no," Andromache said slowly, as if not quite sure how to answer. "But I miss my family a lot." She paused, looking up at Hector, once again striking him by how passionate her expressions were. "Do you know how much Paris values your love?"

"Yes," Hector said, smiling in spite of the many times he ended up cleaning up after the troubles his brother left. "Though morally obligated to rebuke him for his folly, socially I shall always have to protect him. But it goes beyond duty. I love him above all others…he's my little brother."

"Can you imagine leaving _seven_ brothers who love you that way?" asked Andromache softly. "And leaving a father who loves you so much that he'd keep you safe at the expense of never seeing you again?"

"No, I cannot imagine," admitted Hector. "It must be very difficult for you." Trying not to wince at the hollowness of his consolation, Hector lowered his eyes.

"But I envy you," Andromache revealed. "For your family needs you so much that they have to keep you. My family will still survive without me. Yours would not. This city would not. If you were to perish, all of Troy would fall."

"It would still have my father and brother," said Hector firmly. "The Sword of Troy, as long as a Trojan wields it, ensures a future for our people."

"But that future would be realized at the expense of _you_," Andromache told him. "You are their hope, Hector. Don't you find that remarkable?"

"No," said Hector truthfully. "There is nothing remarkable about me. I am not invincible, Andromache. While I was away, I nearly died in the Dardanelles. I even have a wound to show how close I was to death. Had I not moved as quickly as I did, the sword would have cut through more than the bottom of my ear."

Andromache gasped when he moved his hair away from the injury. Before she could stop herself, she drew her hands up to his head. She tenderly brushed away the dark tendrils with her fingertips.

Hector stood rigid, awaiting the pain he was sure would come. But instead of inspecting his ear as he had assumed she would, she merely contented herself with threading her fingers through his hair.

Voice caught in his throat, he barely managed to get his question out. "What are you doing?"

"Your hair is a mess," she chided absently. "I'm trying to fix it for you."

Eyes fixed on the soft, shapely mouth not three inches from his face, Hector nodded. "It's a shame that your comb is broken, else you could have used it."

"I don't need a comb to fix it," she told him evenly, eyes still fixed on the snarls. Her nails were short enough that he could not detect their presence, only the sensation of her smooth fingertips running paths across his head.

"You don't?" asked Hector numbly. A strange sensation pooled in his stomach. The urge to flee and the desire to stay warred inside him, and before he could make up his mind she had gently nudged him towards the bench at her dresser. He decided to sit before his knees gave out, betraying his insecurity. Eyes focused on the mirror, Hector languidly watched her graceful movements.

"All I need are my fingers. My brothers had longer hair than yours and it was even curlier. You simply cannot imagine what little boys can get in their hair. But how did yours get so tousled?"

"I don't know, it's always like this," Hector replied, hoping that the ring of truth would be enough to drown out the warning bells.

_Running my hands through my hair is a nervous habit, and that is not something she needs to know, _Hector thought grimly. _I certainly won't tell her that._

"It's a wonder no one says anything," Andromache remarked, realizing her maternal instincts had taken over. "When I was little, my mother used to fret if my hair was out of place."

"Why?" Hector asked. "It's only hair."

"She told me that men will always look at my hair," Andromache murmured, eyes lowered. Apparently abandoning her previous assertion that a comb was not needed, she picked one up and used it to work out the worse knots. "She told me that a man shall always judge me based on my appearance."

"There is more to a woman than beauty," Hector said firmly. "Any man who is worth _anything_ realizes that."

Pausing, Andromache smiled. She must have forgotten the presence of the mirror, for when she met Hector's gaze in the reflection her mouth opened in surprise and her gaze dropped.

_What in Apollo's name have I let her do to me?_ Hector wailed inwardly. In consolation, his arm extended and he selected a piece of fruit. Numbly chewing on a succession of figs, Hector sighed contentedly. When his hair was to her satisfaction, Andromache sat next to him, releasing her comb and taking up a goblet.

"So what do you think of Troy, after living here for a few weeks?" Hector said conversationally, uneasy at the strange ambience that had settled between the two of them.

"Your market place is amazing," Andromache said, swirling the contents of the wine glass with a gentle twirling motion. "Although I did not get much of a chance to investigate. Until this morning, I've been relatively sheltered. But Briseis told me about the Festival of Apollo, and I am excited to see what it is like."

"Are you going with Briseis, then?" Hector asked.

"I thought about it, but I told Paris that I—" Andromache stopped. "Well, I suppose I shall have to forgive him...even though I'm still very angry with him now. I knocked my youngest brother out of a tree when I was seven. We were climbing trees, you see, and I tried to catch up to him and accidentally bumped the branch he was sitting on. He fell and hit his head; cuts were all over his face. I was just a little girl and didn't know what to do, and he was crying and screaming and bleeding and I couldn't help him. When Paris fell off of that fountain, I thought I killed him."

"Paris is always doing things without thinking," Hector told her. "He tried to prove he was better than me at riding horses, once."

"He did?" Andromache asked, confident where the story was heading but wanting to hear his side of it.

"Yes, but he was only ten, and I was sixteen," Hector explained. "And six years and two feet will certainly make a difference, usually in the latter's favor. As a gesture of friendship, your father gave mine a handsome chestnut stallion. Seventeen and one half hands high, he was far too large for Paris to even consider riding. Additionally, Paris was a very small ten year old."

"He's a very small sixteen year old," Andromache muttered. "I am several inches taller and I don't foresee him growing in the future."

"But you are very tall," Hector told her respectfully.

"Tall enough to ride my father's horse?" Andromache asked hopefully.

"Yes, but we both know Paris to have poor equestrian skills," Hector said. "I suspect that he walked the horse to the beach successfully, but as soon as he tried to mount he was thrown."

"Why did it not protest when he lead it outside the city?" Andromache wondered. "Horses are hard to control if they don't trust their handlers."

"The horse was probably tolerant of children being around it," Hector reasoned. "Some of your brothers probably took care of it, but I cannot imagine them being allowed to ride it. Also, horses sense nervousness quite accurately, and Paris has quite the healthy dose of arrogance."

Andromache nodded in agreement. "What happened after the horse threw him?"

"Paris came back to the city in the morning and snuck into my chambers," Hector told her. "He was bruised and shaken, but more than anything he was worried about what might happen when Father found out. Before he told me what happened, he made me promise to protect him. Fool that I was, I told him I'd protect him forever."

Andromache grinned at Hector's good-natured smile. "I cannot imagine someone like you promising anything less."

"Yes, but it has taught me to be more careful," Hector said. "I will never again promise that kind of dedication to something."

Andromache felt something shift in her chest. "Won't you?"

"I can only do what is expected of me," Hector replied. "Nothing more is possible, really. Anything beyond duty can be viewed as a waste."

"I am sorry you feel that way," Andromache said quietly. She stood suddenly, as if she could not stand to sit by him another minute. Hector could not interpret the change in her attitude, but knew something he said had bothered her. Before he could figure out what it was, she began to speak again.

"It's getting late," Andromache commented, the sheer drapes incapable of hiding the fact that the sun had almost disappeared entirely. "But you can tell Paris that I have forgiven him. I promised him that I would spend the first day of the festival with him, and it is impossible to stay angry with him for too long anyway."

"Are you attending the festival the second day?" asked Hector.

"I suppose that would depend on if I liked the first," she countered. "But I will probably attend regardless. Perhaps I can find some of what I need at the festival."

"What in particular do you seek?" Hector asked her.

"My loom was damaged on the ship," Andromache explained, pointing to the abandoned shuttle in the room's far corner. "I need to buy several pegs to attach at the bottom."

"I could find you another loom," Hector offered. "My mother's eyesight has worsened and she can no longer weave. Perhaps you can use hers?"

"I don't want to trouble you," Andromache said, declining politely. "I haven't thought much about it, really."

"Oh," Hector murmured. As he stood, his hand brushed another box he had not noticed. A dark, handsome wood that matched that of her bureau, the box was not much larger than the first one he picked up. Shaped as a cube, it was carved coarsely by hand, depicting what appeared to be the times of the day.

"What's in this one?" Hector asked.

"A broken bottle," Andromache answered.

"Do you make a habit of breaking things and putting them into boxes?" he asked her, opening the lid. The sight of many lavender glass shards greeted him. A scent still hung around the pieces, suspended around the box. Fragrant but not overpowering, Hector was at a loss to explain what it smelled like.

"It's a nice fragrance," he intoned, daring to touch the jagged contents. Hector pulled a glass shard out, inspecting it carefully when she did not protest. "A perfume bottle, I take it?"

Andromache nodded wordlessly. Her eyes did not leave the bottle, even after Hector closed the lid and replaced it on her dresser.

"Was it yours?" Hector asked her quietly.

Andromache shook her head. "No. It belonged to my mother. I used to keep the bottle by my bed every night, but one night I couldn't sleep and took it to my father's room. All night he talked about my mother, and when I fell asleep he carried me back to my room. The bottle stayed on his bookcase where I had left it until my youngest brother ran into it, knocking the bottle down."

"Is that when you collected the pieces?" Hector inquired.

"No, my father was there when it happened and picked them up for me," Andromache told him. "He put them in the box he carved for her when they were married. It was a wedding present. I think she just appreciated the effort, because she told me that Father couldn't carve too well."

Smiling at that last part, Andromache continued. "Father gave me the wooden box with the broken bottle so I would not be so angry with my brother. I was so furious, but Father told me that mother wouldn't want that."

"My mother _still_ urges me to forgive Paris, even when he makes it especially difficult," Hector said. "He even stole my armguards once to impress a girl, and I had quite an adventure trying to get them back. I eventually had to buy them from a street peddler proclaiming them as 'the magical armguards of the invincible Trojan prince.' Naturally, Paris thought this to be quite funny."

"Paris reminds me so much of my youngest brother," Andromache said. "He's not even a year older than me and we are very competitive. Sadly, they share the inclination to chase the opposite gender, although my brother could not claim to have nearly as much success."

Picking up the tray, Hector sighed tolerantly. "I think I'd best go tell him that you've forgiven him," he told her. "He was very worried that you wouldn't."

"Just be sure to tell him that if he tries to pull a similar trick, I'll push him off a horse," Andromache said heartily. She held the door open for Hector, who lingered in the threshold momentarily.

"Thank you for bringing me some food, but the glass of wine was all I really wanted," Andromache told him. "I feel bad that I made you go through all the trouble."

"It was no trouble," Hector assured her, more aware than ever how expressive her eyes were.

"Oh," Andromache said, looking down. "Um…goodnight, Hector." She was staring pointedly at her feet, which were only a few inches from his. Drawing her foot back suddenly, she bumped her arm on the door. Impossible to ignore the dull, throbbing pain, she meekly lifted her hand to rub the injured area.

_I can't believe I'm acting like this_, Andromache thought miserably. _He probably thinks me a child for such pitiful behavior._

Hector bowed his head respectfully. "Goodnight, Andromache." The image of her face seemed to linger long after she closed her chamber door. Shaking his head to clear it, he found that her incredible fragrance had invaded his mind. Though he had only touched a piece of glass, the scent of saffron perfume drifted around him lightly.


	8. Eight

**8**

**…**

**MaryScot**

**…**

Hector stopped in the kitchens briefly to relieve himself of the tray he had taken to Andromache.  Setting it down, he helped himself to another bushel of grapes before heading off the Paris's bedroom.  No doubt, the youth would be pacing his room anxiously.  Hector knocked on the door, bracing himself for his brother's verbal barrage.

"Is she still angry with me?" Paris asked Hector, looking wounded. 

_He looks as if he's been shot in the heart by one of his own arrows_, Hector mused, the unbearably earnest expression almost painful to behold.

"She forgave you, Brother," Hector revealed, noticing the visible weight that seemed to lift off Paris's shoulders.  "She also said she will attend the first day of the festival with you."

Noticing the strange tone his brother's voice had picked up, Paris eyed his brother warily.  "You're not angry with me, are you?  I counted on asking her before you so she would be able to say yes, without you monopolizing all of your time."

"I didn't ask her," Hector said.

"You didn't?" Paris asked incredulously.  "But why not?  She's going to be your wife!  She is also incredibly breathtaking and—Zeus, is that _perfume_ you're wearing?"

"I did not put any perfume on," Hector said sharply.

"Hmm…then what were you doing that you smell like a woman?" Paris asked harmlessly, belying his innocence by wiggling his brows.  "Andromache was the last one you were talking to, and it has been a fair amount of time since I last saw you…"

"Paris," groaned Hector, slapping his forehead with his hand.  Sliding his hand down over his face, Hector shook his head.  "Not every man who spends time alone with a woman ends up in her bed."

"Well, sometimes I've ended up on the floor," Paris said, shrugging. 

"Paris!" Hector growled. 

"Sorry," Paris said sheepishly.  "But anyway, why do you carry the scent of perfume?  I've never smelled another fragrance like it…I can't even begin to describe it.  And taking into consideration that I've been with many women, you have a mystery on your hands."

"Actually, I think I have a fairly good idea of what it is," Hector admitted.  "But it's not a very common scent.  At any rate, do you think she expected me to ask her?"

"Brother, you have the nerve to call me a fool," Paris muttered, shaking his head.  "Yet the most sensible ideas elude you."

"Paris, I don't spend all my time courting women, and neither do you," Hector pointed out.  "Seduction is a far cry from proper social custom.  I know what is expected of me and I will do it, but no more.  Loving my partner in an arranged marriage is not realistic, and such a thing cannot be rationally demanded of me.  And you taught me the dangers of promising too much to someone."

_Zeus, you sound just like her,_ Paris moaned inwardly.  "What would be wrong with getting emotionally involved with her?  She is the future queen of Troy, and you its future king.  You are joined to her in an agreement that is over ten years old.  It's not as you can simply send her back if you detest her."

"I don't detest her," Hector said indignantly. 

"Then I don't see a problem," Paris said swiftly.  "But continue to view her as a burden and you will find that she will resent you.  Andromache likes her independence and feared you might take it away.  But by the same token, she does not wish to be viewed as separate, and therefore deemed useless, from you." 

"Why would it matter to her if I found her useful or not?" Hector wondered.

"If you've spoken with her, you know she thinks nothing of the money and title she will gain, but she does not enjoy being powerless.  To be useful to you would give her some type of worth.  Living with men of strong authority and being unable to influence them would make anyone feel helpless."

"I think Andromache is far from helpless," Hector asserted.  "But a wife does not wield power over her husband."

"You'd be surprised," Paris mumbled.  "But you would not like to have an unhappy wife.  As an expert on such wives, they are very susceptible to the charms of men who can give them but a moment's happiness."

"Does this explain your appeal to married women?" Hector asked him sharply.

Ignoring his brother's tone, Paris continued.  "Andromache is too sharp to fall for me and I love you too much to entice her, but there are many who would not hesitate to pursue her if she showed signs of discontent.  There are men that are even more opportunistic than I."

"I don't plan on making the poor girl miserable!" Hector bit out.  "You make it sound as if she'd be treated no better than a slave!"

"But a marriage without love is more confining than any chains," Paris replied sagely.  "A woman such as Andromache, without her husband's love, would despair.  And you would not be happy either knowing you caused her such grief."

"What makes you so sure that any of this will happen?" Hector demanded.

Paris looked thoughtful.  "There are many things I do not know of, for I have never experienced love in the truest way that I am sure I am destined to, but I can tell you what I have learned from being with many women.  You will marry an elegant princess, but like any woman regardless of beauty or title, she needs the love of her husband."

"Knowing all this, you still have a clear conscience when you bed the unhappy wives of men?" asked Hector pointedly.

"If the husbands cannot make their wives happy, then why do they deserve to have wives that are loyal to them?" Paris asked.  "I know it's not respectable, but if I can give them the love their husbands cannot, why shouldn't I?"

"Because you don't give them _love_!" Hector snapped.  "You give them your cheap imitation of it!  You take advantage of their loneliness and use it to bring yourself pleasure at the expense of their emotions!"

"Why are so passionate about what you claim not to understand?" Paris asked quietly, his soft tone disarming his older brother.  "You tell me you cannot love Andromache because such a thing cannot be realistically be expected of you.  But then you continue by saying that a woman has to be loyal to her husband no matter what she feels.  I pity Andromache; I fear she shall be unhappy."

"For Apollo's sake, it's not a death sentence to marry me!" Hector proclaimed.

"It's not?" Paris inquired softly.  "Think of it.  After she is married to you, what will she have if not your love?  Her family is hundreds of miles away in another kingdom.  Her only friends here are Briseis and myself, and she would not be permitted to spend her time with me.  Briseis might soon be married and would no longer live in the palace.  Honestly, Andromache would have nothing to speak of."

Hector gazed evenly at his brother.  "What difference would love make?" 

Not waiting for an answer, the Trojan heir stormed out of Paris's room, slamming the door shut behind him.  Left all alone in the deafening silence of his brother's wake, Paris sat down on the edge of his bed.  Eyes fixed on the frayed edge of his toga, Paris smiled sadly. 

"Sometimes, it can mean everything."

****

With a broken loom, Andromache found nothing to do in her room and quickly became bored.  Throwing on her indigo shawl, she headed out to the garden.  The torches were lit, and the tranquil sight filled her with the peace she'd been desperately seeking.  She immediately headed to the iris bed.

Kneeling by the latest blossoms, she clipped several and wrapped them in a thin scarf.  When Hector entered the garden, he watched the light smile that played on her lips as she admired the fresh blooms.

"Hector?" she asked hesitantly, noting his extremely sour expression.  "Are you alright?"

"It appears that your irritation with Paris has transferred over to me," Hector informed her.  Hair returned to its earlier state of alarming disarray, the Trojan prince looked absolutely furious.

"He does have that effect on people," Andromache agreed.  "What happened?"

"It's a private matter," he snapped, immediately regretting his roughness.

Not flinching at the unfriendly tone, she met it with nonchalance.  "I see.  Then I suppose it is not my concern.  I apologize."  She turned her back to him, continuing to arrange the flowers until they pleased her.

Irritated that she brushed off his brusqueness so easily, Hector took a deep breath.  He could not gather his wits to apologize, so he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Why are you wearing a shawl at this time of the year?" he asked, his attitude uncharacteristically boorish.

Eyeing him strangely, Andromache could not understand why he had suddenly become so hostile.  She then remembered that Paris could have an adverse affect on peoples' moods.  "I think they're comfortable.  It doesn't matter what time of the day, the season, or location…I just wear them."

"That doesn't make any sense," Hector bit out, his voice clipped.  The poor man looked beside himself; opposing rationales were battling in his head and conflicting feelings within his chest.  Politeness was definitely not foremost on his mind.

Trying not to smile at his irritation, Andromache looked at him evenly.  "No, I don't suppose it does."

"Why would you do something that doesn't make sense?" Hector asked her huffily, arms crossed.

Unable to hide her grin, Andromache knew that amusement was dancing in her eyes.  "Why not?" she countered swiftly, shoulders lifting in a casual shrug.

Exhaling forcefully, he proceeded to storm out of the garden.  He turned on his heel suddenly, taking a deep breath.

"Andromache, do you want to go with me on the second night to the festival?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

"I would be delighted," Andromache replied, grinning back at where Hector was pointedly staring at his feet.

Grumbling to himself tetchily, Hector finally uncrossed his arms.  "Well, alright then," he muttered, turning once again to leave, his steps decidedly lighter.

_I wonder what he and Paris talked about_, Andromache wondered wildly.  I've never heard of Hector becoming so angry.  Something must really be bothering him, I suppose.  Paris does tend to bring up some unpleasant truths, despite being so ostensibly lighthearted.

Andromache headed back indoors, carrying the irises to Briseis's room.  After knocking, she was permitted entrance.  As Andromache opened the door somewhat awkwardly, she found the reason she had not been instantly greeted with the occupant.

Briseis was experimenting with a collection of imported lip rouges, apparently unsatisfied with previous results due to the sheer amount of color cakes that were strewn all over her bed.  Poised on the edge, Briseis held a looking glass in front of her face as she delicately applied a new color.

"Briseis, I brought you some flowers," Andromache told the girl, whose eyes left the mirror for only an instant when she entered.

"Thank you," said Briseis, finally lowering the mirror to look at her guest.  "What do you think?"

"It might make more sense to try those out when you have natural light, not candlelight," Andromache suggested, but ended up shaking her head in a negative.

"I'm trying to pick a shade for the festival," Briseis told her, wiping off the current shade of sheer coral.  "And I'm wearing them in the evening."

"Why only the evening?" Andromache inquired.

"Because that's when things get interesting," answered Briseis, who had raised her mirror once again, this time smearing on a berry-hued rouge.  "And all the most handsome eligible men are on the prowl to find and woo beautiful young women."

"And you're just hoping that they pick you?" Andromache asked playfully.

"Of course," Briseis grinned.  "How is this one?"

"Too dark," advised Andromache. 

Briseis sighed.  "You don't even need rouge, your lips are always lush and red."

Andromache felt a tinge of embarrassment.  "Am I correct in assuming that is a good thing?"

"Yes, because Paris told me that men like women with full, crimson lips," Briseis said absently, applying a sumptuous shade of rosy pink.  Using her finger to brush at the edge of her bottom lip, she looked up at Andromache.  "How is this one?"

"The best one I've seen," Andromache told her truthfully.

"You've only seen three," Briseis pointed out, but seemed pleased.  "It's the best one I've seen too, but I've seen all seventeen."

"Seventeen?" choked Andromache.  "The festival is only seven days, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I wanted to be prepared in case some of them didn't work out," Briseis told her primly.  "And some of them certainly didn't."

Laughing at the younger girl's logic, Andromache smiled.  "Please tell me that you plan to wear that one shade all seven nights instead of seven different ones."

"Of course," Briseis told her simply.  "If one is the obvious best choice, why spend six other nights looking less attractive?  What's so funny?"

Waving off the girl's concern, Andromache managed to fight off her laughter successfully.  "I'm sorry, it's been quite a strange day."

"Oh, did you see Hector?" asked Briseis, remembering that she was supposed to be angry with him.

"Yes, several times," Andromache replied.

"Several times?" Briseis repeated, puzzled.

"The first time I didn't get the chance to speak with him, the second he was incredibly kind and understanding, and the third he was very angry and curt."

"That doesn't sound like Hector," Briseis mused.  "I wonder what is troubling him.  He's always so dreadfully consistent."

"He told me he had a disagreement with Paris," Andromache said helpfully.

"Well, that will do it for just about anyone," Briseis muttered.  "Paris has that kind of affect on Hector.  No one can throw off his equilibrium quite like him.  I love Paris dearly, but I do not see how Priam could have possibly produced two sons who are complete opposites."

"I don't know either, for my brothers and I are very much alike," Andromache said.  "Although they went through great pains to shape me in their image, I suppose.  They will praise their success until they die.  They especially enjoyed cultivating my strong-willed tendencies, which might have been a mistake, at least for them.  They learned that I always win my arguments."

Briseis smiled.  "Hector tried to teach Paris many things," she informed her, "but none were terribly successful, with the exception of archery.  Paris took right to that, possibly because there needs to be quite a bit of distance between the opponents.  As much as I love Paris, he's absolutely hopeless in a close-range fight."

"That doesn't surprise me," Andromache said.  "But at least he's talented with a bow.  I cannot claim that my brothers could teach me much beyond that, and even my skills pale in comparison to Paris's."

"Hector worked very hard with Paris to develop the skill after discovering his brother's aptitude," Briseis said.  "What kind of things did your brothers teach you, aside from being obstinate?"   

"_All_ kinds of things," assured Andromache.  "Most of my older brothers just taught me things they were taught by the brother before him…you know, tree climbing, swimming, sneaking into rooms…but Theseus, my youngest brother born only eleven months before me, delighted in teaching me the most unscrupulous, improper phrases I've ever heard.  He relished the opportunity to corrupt me…not that he ever did or even truly wanted to, he just liked to make sure I knew everything about men by the time I had to leave for Troy."

"You sound like you miss him very much," Briseis murmured.

"I do," Andromache answered.  "But Theseus, like my father, told me that once I was loved by Hector I would not miss him so much.  But now, I wonder if that day will ever arrive and what will become of me if it does not.  I've seen what happens to unhappy women…they fade away until they resemble nothing more than the breeze that passes through the garden at night.  Do you think I will be like that someday?"

Briseis looked Andromache directly in the eye, not flinching when she deciphered the uncomfortable emotions she saw there.  "I think you will prove to my cousin your kindness, strength, and intelligence," she told her truthfully.  "But only he is responsible for how he deals with it.  Duty to one more person in his life worries Hector, I think.  The burden of Troy rests on his soldiers, as well as his duty to Paris, who certainly needs all the care and protection his brother provides.  You have to show Hector that what you offer him is strength, not weakness."

Andromache's brow furrowed.  "I am so unsure and afraid of getting married.  How can I be strong when I feel like this?"

"I do not know," Briseis said plainly.  "The path to love is never easy, or so I hear from Mother.  But Hector will be forced to recognize your strength when you overcome you anxiety.  Love is not a struggle; if it triumphs there is no loser."

"Then why does it feel like we are both fighting?" Andromache muttered despondently, slumping onto the bed beside her friend. 

Unable to answer her question, Briseis wrapped her arms around her friend.  Andromache stayed the night in Briseis's room, eventually settling in a chair beside the bed.  Sleep would not come to her, even though she desperately craved the calm it would bring to her thoughts.

_I will have to be stalwart, even though I don't feel strong_, Andromache told herself.  _But how can I prove my worth to a man who is a perfect son, a loyal brother, a skilled warrior, and a future king?  I have nothing to offer him…_

 When slumber eventually overtook her, Andromache had a strange dream that she was Persephone, innocently playing amongst the plants of her mother, Demeter.  Hades was strolling amongst the lush vegetation, not taking notice of her, enjoying the life that he must have done without in the Underworld. 

Eros appeared, with the face of Paris, and shot Hades with one of his bewitched arrows.  But when Hades turned to look at Persephone, it was Hector's face he wore.  Soundlessly, Hades grabbed Persephone and summoned his chariot, whisking them both away to his dark domain.  Andromache's scream of terror died in Persephone's throat as all of the life she had just been enjoying disappeared as they entered the inky black abyss of hell.  Only despair, too weak to call for help, was left in its place.


	9. Nine

**9**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

In the week preceding the Festival of Apollo, Andromache fell victim to Briseis's enthusiasm. Unaccustomed to spending a great deal of time on physical appearance, the princess had allowed her younger friend to attend to most of the arrangements. In time, Andromache found herself becoming slightly concerned with the alarming cheeriness of the girl, and wondered exactly what preparations she was allowing the girl to make.

Andromache and Briseis sat on the younger girl's bed, where the former had just received information on the measures she had allowed Briseis to take in her stead.

"I do not need seven new gowns!" Andromache hissed, glaring reprovingly at Briseis. "That is absolutely ridiculous, not to mention wasteful!"

"But I have them all planned out," Briseis pouted. "You are spending the first night wearing an exquisite peach colored dress, when you accompany Paris. The next night, the one you plan to spend with Hector, you shall be swathed in a robe of luscious ultramarine."

"Ultramarine?" Andromache asked, puzzled. "It's such a strong color when you compare it to the first evening's choice."

"You don't want to overpower Paris too much, you'd look to strong," Briseis said, brushing off her concerns. "But more importantly, Hector is partial to the color blue and you will look simply stunning when you accompany him. I shall foist some preparations with the palace tailor to make sure he wears a nice complimentary color that evening. I'm thinking that white would be best. The next night you will spend with me, and I think that you would be absolutely breathtaking in —"

"I never said I was spending that night with you," Andromache accused; her smile making it obvious she was not really angry in the slightest.

"Well, you are, because I want you to," Briseis ordered, apparently more focused on remembering what color she had planned. "Anyhow, the third night is going to be a very luxurious burgundy."

"I'm surprised that you have not figured out the remainder of the week," Andromache muttered dryly.

"Of course I have it planned out," Briseis said with a grin, clapping her hands together in an indication of delight. "But I'm going to surprise you!"

"I hope you know I'm not overtly fond of surprises," Andromache said. "Even though you talk about dresses, any kind of surprise has me wary. Seven brothers taught me that, Briseis, mostly in the form of snakes."

"Snakes?" Briseis asked, looking slightly pale.

"Oh yes, snakes," Andromache repeated. "I don't mind them, really, but I must admit that they are somewhat unpleasant crawling in your bed during the middle of the night."

"But these are _good_ surprises!" Briseis emphasized. Ignoring Andromache's sigh, she continued. "None of them involve snakes, I promise! Please, I know you'll like what I've chosen!"

Ignoring the playfully mistrustful look Andromache sent her way, Briseis tossed her head in an equally mocking gesture of arrogant dismissal.

"Since I do not want to clash with you, I have a dilemma," Briseis revealed. "Which color do you think would best compliment your burgundy gown, gold or emerald?"

Groaning, Andromache slumped backwards on the bed. "I suppose I deserve this. I had an entire week to do this myself, but instead I let you do it because you wanted to so badly. Naturally, I wait until the night before to check with you…"

"You will look amazing," assured Briseis, looking down at the prone, beleaguered form of her friend. She threw herself back on the bed so she could look directly into Andromache's face. "I told Paris that you will be ready to accompany him at six hours past noon—"

"What am I going to do until then?" Andromache asked, bewildered.

"You will be getting ready, of course," Briseis said, rolling her eyes.

"What would I need to do that would require such a long time?" demanded Andromache.

"I don't see why you are so concerned about it all of the sudden," shrugged Briseis. "You shut yourself away in your room this past week; Paris and I feared you had succumbed to your previous strategy of isolation, though what for, neither of us knew. What were you doing in there?"

Unusually silent at the inquiry, Andromache turned her face away from Briseis's. The latter sat up, studying her friend's stony visage.

"Andromache, what's wrong?" asked Briseis gently, placing a comforting hand on the princess's arm. "Are you alright?"

Andromache met her friend's eyes for a moment. "I've been trying not to think about the whole thing," she admitted, eyes fixed pointedly on the post at the end of the bed. "I'm nervous."

"But you've talked to Hector before," pointed out Briseis, wrapping her arms around her friend and pulling her back up into a sitting position. The younger girl carefully coaxed her friend's hands out of fists and pulled the creased bed sheets from their grasp. "What's wrong?"

"I get the impression that Hector is not looking forward to this," Andromache said bitterly. "I don't think he wants to go with me at all!"

Briseis shushed her tenderly. "You don't know that, Andromache," she told her softly. "I think he's just as nervous as you are. And going out with Paris the night before will help you relax. He's a very easygoing boy and I know you'll have fun. He will take your mind off your fear, and you will be your very best for Hector when he accompanies you the next night."

Andromache glanced at Briseis fretfully. "I hope you are right, Briseis." She rose from the bed. Looking out the window, she spied the setting sun. "I think I should get back to my room and try to sleep."

"Don't you dare," Briseis scolded, standing up to challenge her. "It's too early for slumber. You have been in your room far too much this week, worrying and fretting about what might happen. I think you need some fresh air. I even asked Paris even selected some papyrus for you. Naturally, he had no knowledge of which type to purchase, so he bought some of every kind, but at least you won't have to worry about running out. Go into the garden and draw your pictures. At least do something that might help you ease your troubled mind."

Smiling at and accepting the offered sheets Briseis handed her. "Thank you, Briseis. I think I shall do that. The light of crackling torches, the smell of fresh irises, and the sounds of a tranquil night will be better than the dark solitude of my chamber."

"Just try not to worry," Briseis pleaded, giving her friend a sad look.

Smiling, Andromache nodded. "I shall try." As she left her friend's room, one thought kept running through her head.

_But that doesn't mean I'll have any luck._

****

_It's strange that I saw her three times in a day when I first returned, but have not caught sight of her for nearly a week,_ Hector mused. _Perhaps I've frightened her away with my appalling behavior the last time we spoke._

Trying to ignore where this last idea took his thoughts, Hector felt a strange agitation seize him. Pulling a black robe over his customary blue toga, he decided to go for a walk through the castle. The evening torches had been lit, casting an orange glow over the golden walls of the city.

Hector watched a family make its preparations for the following evening's festival. A man and his wife were adorning their home with brightly patterned flags of yellow and red. One of the children, a young girl, giggled as she tugged on the end of a scarlet streamer and pulled it loose.

_Troy does not know all the danger that exists outside its walls_, Hector reflected, watching as the father chuckled heartily, scooping the happy child into his arms. She laughed and waved the stripe of crimson in her small hand.

Hector continued his walk around the castle perimeter, pausing as he entered the walkway that overlooked the garden. From his position, the dense foliage of a tree almost completely obscured the person sitting in the middle of the garden. Only the brilliant indigo cloak told him who it was.

As Hector looked closer, he saw that seated on a stone bench at the foot of Apollo's statue, was Andromache. Through the tiny space in between the trees, he could just make out the figure of the princess bent over what appeared to be a sheet of papyrus. Her hair gleamed auburn in the firelight, twisted into a plait.

Finding his feet moving on their own accord, Hector headed down the steps that ended less five yards in front of the statue. As his sandaled feet descended the stone staircase, he noticed that Andromache was holding a small black stone in her hand.

Andromache looked at his approach; Hector did not know if it was because she heard him or sensed him. Reflecting the flames of the torches she sat by, her eyes shone cinnamon.

"Andromache," he addressed softly, bowing his head politely.

"Do you wish to join me?" Andromache asked bravely, gesturing to remainder of the bench beside her. "It's a lovely evening."

Wordlessly, Hector took a seat next to her, an acceptable distance away. He saw the papyrus she had spread over her lap was actually a drawing of someone he did not recognize.

"May I see?" he inquired politely, motioning to her artwork.

"If you would like," Andromache murmured, handing him the top sheet. He took it, still unable to identify the subject.

"Who is it?" Hector asked, studying the face. A youthful man with very defined features, he had dark, wavy hair and the hint of a beard. The eyebrows opened up the face; they were high above the eyes, gently arcing, and elegant. A roguish smile played on his well-formed lips and a twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes.

"The most incredible Theban to ever be born," giggled Andromache. "Quite a force of nature. But my portrait does not properly encapsulate his spirit; no rendition ever could. This one I just finished this evening."

Andromache leaned forward to show him the next portrait, and Hector found himself inhaling deeply the fragrance of her hair. Suppressing the impractical urge to lace his fingers through the scented strands and pull them out of the unsightly braid, Hector instead used his hand to pull the picture onto his lap for a more thorough examination.

"Is this your father?" Hector asked her, studying the subject's face intently. The face was lined and wrinkled, but the odd light that seemed to shine in the dark eyes spoke of lingering youthfulness. Hair curled tightly at the temples, paled with age.

"Yes," Andromache answered, smiling as she looked upon the work. "I like this one more because the subject's essence was easier to capture. My father has a passionate heart but he is consistent, and the ever-present steadfastness is easier to portray than any fleeting mood. He comforts me, knowing that I can rely on his strength."

"I am glad that you could forgive him before you parted with him," Hector told her, returning the drawing.

"Did you forgive yours?" questioned Andromache daringly.

"Forgive him for what?" asked Hector, puzzled.

"For arranging this marriage for you," she replied, peering at him carefully.

"There is nothing to forgive, it is my duty," Hector answered with conviction.

"You don't believe he restricted you in any way?" Andromache wondered.

"No, I do not," responded Hector. "Father told me that Troy will need an heir after I assume power. Paris would not be a good ruler, nor would he desire to rule, and a continuation of rule through the family line of firstborn sons has always been a tradition. And to be completely honest, I do not have time or the inclination to seek a wife."

"Why is that?" Andromache asked curiously.

"I mean no offense, but I have never seen the need for one," Hector answered honestly. "I realize that wives make some men very happy, and even in some cases two people in an arranged marriage fall in love. But I have never seen why _I_ need a wife. I already have the love of my family and I can take care of myself. There is supposed to be more to a marriage than producing children, but I do not think I could serve my family as it deserves. But I shall try my best."

Andromache smiled at the last part. "I would not expect anything less from you."

Hector looked at her strangely for a moment. "Before you arrived here, I spoke to Paris about the idea of marrying a stranger. I remember that I thought you would be a woman who did not know her own heart. I worried that you would be wicked or disloyal. I hate to admit it, but Paris had me worried you would be hideous, and thankfully you are not. You are not any of those terrible things I feared you would be. You love your family and you are strong-willed. Those are things that will never change, and I would never want them to."

Deeply flattered by his observation and promise, Andromache could not meet his eyes. Happiness swelled in her and she found it was simply too difficult to look at him. Her lips curved in a smile, but she strove to cover her face with her ever-present mantle.

"Why are you hiding your face from me?" inquired Hector, utterly mystified by her reaction. "I gave you a compliment."

"I'm embarrassed," admitted Andromache, voice muffled by the indigo cloth. At Hector's perplexed look, she could not help but laugh.

Shoulders falling helplessly at the odd situation, he tilted his head to the side to study the strange image she made. Huddled protectively behind her mantle, she was giggling merrily. Papers floated to the ground as she squirmed to get away from Hector, who was attempting to pull the cloak away from her face.

"Stop that," Hector commanded, hands around her wrists. He was laughing heartily at her unsuccessful attempts to wrench free. "Stop hiding! You make me feel ridiculous when you hide! I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable!"

"You're too strong, it isn't fair!" she shrieked, managing to twist one arm from his grasp. His hand shot forward to recapture it and his cheek brushed hers. Her quickly dying laughter blew warm breath against his right ear, and the folds of her cloak brushed his temple. His heart beat scant inches from her own, and he could almost feel her pulse quicken at such close proximity to him.

"I got you," he crowed softly, grasping the imprisoned wrist of her right arm loosely in his left hand. The touch of his fingers was light upon her flesh, but she knew the digits that held onto her so lightly could instantly tighten and crush her wrist if he so desired. She pulled her head back the tiniest bit to watch as he lowered both their arms back down to their sides, never quite releasing her.

Hector met her eyes, for seemingly the thousandth time in his life, never quite getting over the intensity they seemed to radiate. The dark depths no longer appeared the same, reddish brown he had seen earlier in the firelight. Instead, they did not seem to mirror any light from the garden's countless torches. He sought the spots of reflected light but found none.

Finding it difficult to look into them any longer without drowning in them, Hector lowered his eyes, which fell upon her mouth. Recognizing this choice to be equally perilous, he knew if he lowered his gaze any further he'd be looking at something absolutely lethal. His eyes began by following the seam of her lips, and then traced the delicate curve of her cupid's bow. After following the seductive rise and fall of the sensuous structure, his gaze leisurely traveled the lush, red fullness of her bottom lip.

Andromache found it difficult to breath as she watched Hector carefully examine her lips. Such scrutiny from a man was something she usually detested, but she found she actually wanted him to continue. His hand absently shifted down to hold hers, their fingers lacing together loosely. He looked so serious that she almost smiled, and Hector must have noticed the corner of her mouth twitch because his gaze moved up to meet hers.

Hector released the breath he'd been holding, and finding himself unable to stop himself, moved in to kiss her. Andromache felt air brush her lips as he pulled away suddenly. Disappointment stabbed her, until she realized they were not alone.

"Andromache!" a voice cried out, coming from somewhere on the ground. "Thank the gods it's you! I thought it was, but that tree was in the way and I couldn't be sure. You haven't seen Hec—"Oh…um, hello, Brother."

Paris had fallen down the steps no more than twelve feet in front of the two. After climbing over the side of the castle wall, the garden was the fastest way to his chamber. Apparently, the area had decided to ascent was the same one that Hector had stood earlier, barely able to see who was sitting at the bench. Paris hadn't seen his brother and thought himself safe when he'd just seen Andromache, who normally said nothing to him when he returned every night.

Paris's surprised stare passing over where his brother's hand held Andromache's. Realizing what he had just interrupted, Paris stood abruptly, face and neck stained crimson. Pointedly looking down to the right, he tried to summon a plausible excuse.

"I was…um…shoeing horses," Paris stammered awkwardly, and even he was forced to wince at such a terribly lie.

"That required climbing the palace walls?" Hector inquired, pulling away very slightly from Andromache but not releasing her wrist. Andromache also scooted away, but not as far as she could have.

"Of course it required climbing the walls!" Paris declared indignantly. "There aren't any horses inside the palace!"

"Whose horses required your attendance at this late hour, Paris?" Andromache asked archly, smiling sweetly at his discomfort.

"That's none of your business," he accused. "I can shoe anyone's horses whenever I wish! I was helping someone!"

"I really don't think you can actually shoe a horse," Hector said skeptically.

"As the infamous horse tamer, I'm sure he would know," Andromache affirmed. "And if he says you cannot shoe a horse, I am inclined to agree with him. So what were you doing tonight, Paris? _Really_? Attending to the needs of _something_, I'm sure."

Mouth agape at both of them, Paris tried unsuccessfully to retort. Throwing up his hands in aggravation, he grumbled a response before turning quickly on his heel. Attempting to flee at a dignified pace proved difficult and he eventually broke into a run.

"He's such an idiot," Andromache sighed, smiling in spite of herself. "And an abysmal liar. For someone who does so much sneaking around, you would think he'd be more skilled at covering it up."

"He would not be nearly so likeable if he were devious," Hector told her, shrugging. "If what he did was not so disreputable, I would almost swear it was amusing."

Andromache smiled at him. "It must be getting late. When Paris returns, I know that it must be time for me to go inside. I keep track of time during the day by a sundial and at night by Paris. It really is a shame we were interrupted, but somehow it won't be the same if we continued now."

Hector nodded. "I agree. Perhaps I should find him and punish him somehow."

"Well, you cannot lock him in his room tomorrow night, for he will be with me," Andromache reminded. "And it might be the first night in years where he sleeps alone in his own bed."

"He will be absolutely crushed to hear that," Hector said in mock distress.

Andromache laughed. "If he is, I'm sure he will recover the next night in the arms of a temple maiden," she reassured. "But he will be perfectly civilized tomorrow. I know he will."

"If not out of the respect he has for your character, than out of fear of your temper," Hector said, smiling.

"He's a good boy, though, deep down," Andromache murmured softly, looking down to where her hand was still held by Hector. "Just an idiot, like I said earlier."

Reluctant to let go of her, Hector smiled. "Just watch over him when you attend the festival tomorrow. A dozen normal children don't get into nearly as much trouble as he does."

"I will have fun," Andromache stated, "but I look forward to the next night I spend with you."

"As do I," Hector told her, gently loosening the grip he had on her fingers. He could feel her hand sliding out of his grasp. His heart gave a pang at the loss of contact, and his watched her slowly lower her hand to her side.

"You will be there, won't I?" Andromache asked him.

"I usually don't go the first night," Hector told her.

"Oh, but I hope you decide to," Andromache said hopefully. She stooped to collect the papers she had dropped, but her attention was mainly focused on awaiting his response.

"…Perhaps," Hector replied mysteriously after a moment had passed.

"I hope to see you there," Andromache said, lifting a hand to pull her cloak around her more tightly. Giving him a small smile, she bid him goodnight.

"Goodnight," he returned, very reluctant to depart. She was the first to move, and when she was gone, Hector could not help but grin. Walking over to the irises, he plucked a flower and lifted it to his nose.

_It's just as I thought._


	10. Ten

**10**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Swatting away the flurry of hands fussing over her, Andromache sunk even lower in her chair; such a feat was marvelous considering how terrible her posture was just prior.  Three simpering maids were hovering around her; so many things were being done that Andromache could not keep track of them all.

"I can take care of myself," Andromache mumbled sullenly.  "While I appreciate the help, I am certain there are other things you would much rather be doing."

"Lady Briseis ordered us to make sure you follow all the instructions she gave you," one of the maids tittered. 

"She never presented me with anything," Andromache said in annoyance.

Wordless, but unfortunately not without more giggles, one of the maids produced a letter.  Just as her hand closed around it, something sharp fell into her lap.  Unfolding and scanning the letter, Andromache gripped it tightly in a fist.

"This is ridiculous!" Andromache declared, pointing to the seventh item on the list.  She held up the metal item that fell out.  "Don't even think of putting that in my hair!  It looks like some kind of weapon!"

The maids shrieked with laughter, whisking the item away before Andromache could protest.  "It's only a hairpin, Princess.  The hurt will be worthwhile, let me assure you.  The most dazzling beauty must always be accompanied by some kind of pain."

"No it doesn't!" Andromache contradicted vehemently, trying to fend off the pair of hands that rested firmly on her shoulders.  Realizing she couldn't fight off four more hands, she allowed her hair to be restyled. 

"Why am I even wearing something this extravagant?" she asked, pointing to her reflection in the looking glass.  The ornament was stunning; the narrow, silver shaft of the pin was decorated with the most unusual coral-colored stones, complimenting the peach gown nicely.  At the top, sprays of coral stones were arranged, much like the tail of a peacock.  Currently the dress was draped carefully over the bed, the sheer, shimmering silk glinting pleasantly in the candlelight.

"Lady Briseis picked that pin out, saying you could use something more fancy," the youngest maid answered.  "She has no problem with what you normally wear, but stresses that this entire week is a series of special occasions.  She told us to tell you that she knows you favor gold jewelry over silver, but that it will look incredible on you."

Feeling her cheeks redden, Andromache crossed her arms.  She looked down at her fingers, which had been submitted to the attention of her maids earlier that day.  Three coats of shimmering coral paint had been meticulously applied to her fingernails, but Andromache was certainly not going to admit that she liked them.  The shade was beautiful but sheer enough to be tasteful, the touch of color as much as Andromache thought she could take, given the present situation of constant fussing.

Andromache straightened up immediately when she felt one of the six hovering hands approach her eyes with a stick of kohl. 

"I don't like hands around my eyes," declared Andromache firmly.  "I would very much appreciate if you allowed me to do this, if it simply must be done."

"Lady Briseis told us that we are not to let you leave if you don't us prepare you," the tallest maid revealed, surrendering her kohl. 

"Where is that girl, anyway?" asked Andromache peevishly.  "Briseis told me she would be here."

"Oh, she's talking to prince Paris," said the thinnest maid, giggling like mad.  The other two joined in, and Andromache rolled her eyes, a marvelous feat she managed to accomplish whilst she lined them simultaneously.  "That lucky girl."

"They're cousins!" Andromache groaned.  "Besides, I know all three of you girls could do better than him.  Apollo knows I love the boy, but I'm begging you: don't fall for his charms."

"Oh, but I already have," sighed the tall maid, giggling even harder.  "He was incredible!"

Andromache tried not to swear as the kohl line slipped.  _Those silly girls…_

"Oh, tell us all about it!" urged the thinnest one.  "Please!  I must know!"

"I don't think this is the proper place," Andromache cut in smoothly, using a cloth to clean up the mistake she made lining her left eye.  "Thank you girls for helping me today, but I believe I can handle the rest.  You may tell Lady Briseis that you have completed your duties."

The three girls bowed and left, their infernal giggling nearly driving Andromache mad.  Thanking Apollo that they were gone, Andromache resumed the application of kohl before rising.  She stood over her bed, admiring the lovely fabric of the gown.

_It's beautiful, but it does not fit me_, she thought pensively.  _The color is simply too…delicate.  I'll bet Paris will adore it.  Briseis did say she selected it with him in mind.  What color did she pick for Hector, again?_

Shaking her head for worrying about such inane thoughts, Andromache changed into the gown.  The cut was simplistic; the gown was designed as all of Andromache's other ones, but of a finer quality.  All clasps were silver, but were decorated with gold stones in addition to the unusual coral ones she noted earlier.

Reaching into one of the many boxes that Hector had commented on earlier, she pulled out a pair of silver earrings, the only silver jewelry she actually owned.  Very small and very plain, she admired their simplicity and fine craftsmanship.  The strange design almost resembled the shape of arrows.

Leave it to Theseus to find the strangest, most eccentric jewelry, Andromache thought wryly.  _He probably looked for ages to find something I could never be able to wear under normal circumstances.  And leave it to him to buy me silver, which he knows I don't care for…_

Rolling her eyes when she recalled her brother's response, she slid the clasps through her earlobes. 

"You hate them, don't you?" he had cried dramatically, more to embarrass her than anything else.  In front of the entire family, he had fallen at her feet, tugging on the hem of her dress in supplication.  His exaggerated apology had almost made Andromache laugh; Theseus loved being silly.  "And I bet you won't ever wear them, either!  Oh, I'm a terrible brother, I really am!  I'm so sorry….no, you don't ever have to wear something so ugly!  It's all my fault, really!"

Frowning when she realized she would never deal with his antics again, she found that any excitement she had been bearing was gone.  In its place was a feeling suspended between sadness and acceptance.  Before he had joined the army, Theseus had been her constant companion.  Very rarely did he abandon her to side with his older brothers, but when he did, any hurt she felt was more at his desertion than anything else.

"Andromache?" a voice asked, coming from Briseis who stood in the doorway.  "I've been saying your name for almost a minute, so I came in.  Are you alright?"

Andromache nodded.  "I'm fine.  I'm sorry I didn't hear you at the door.  I suppose I should be meeting Paris now."

Briseis took her hand, pulling her along.  "His mouth will drop when he realizes what you've been hiding under that cloak," she beamed. 

Rolling her eyes, Andromache did not deign that comment with a reply.  She gently broke the grasp of her friend.

"Why don't you go on ahead, I'll be along in a moment," Andromache told her.  Looking confounded but complying with the request, Briseis continued down the hall, tossing a baffled look back at her friend.  Brisies walked to the entrance of the palace, where Paris and Hector were obviously discussing something intensely.  As soon as Hector saw his cousin come into sight, he broke away from Paris to her.

"Good evening, Briseis," he said, his gaze flickering politely her, taking notice of the makeup she wore.  "You look lovely this evening."

Puzzled and perplexed when Hector headed back inside the palace, Briseis called after him.  "Hector, you're not going to the festival tonight?" she asked.

"I've got a lot of business to attend to," he answered, never breaking his stride.

"But it's the very first night!" Briseis wailed. 

"There are six more of them," Hector told her, finally turning around. 

"You aren't even going to keep an eye on Paris and Andromache?" she asked helplessly.  Trying to find a good reason, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.  "You know how Paris is, don't you want to make sure he doesn't try anything?"

"I trust my brother not to do anything questionable," Hector said, deflating a great deal of Paris's irritation.  "I hope you all have fun tonight, Briseis.  Don't go and break some poor lad's heart tonight."

Briseis smiled.  "I'm not the one who has to worry about that," she grinned, pointing to where Andromache was walking down the palace steps. 

Delicate silver sandals were barely visible under the long hem of Andromache's gown, which shimmered becomingly in the radiance of the fading sun and flickering torches.  The depths of the pale hue were cultivated by such an odd combination of light.

Hector studied her closely, taking more than her outward appearance.  For all the magnificent finery she wore, she seemed different than she had last night.  She was stunning; there was no question.  But for all her beauty Hector did not find her as alluring as he had the evening before.  Something was gone that had been present last night.

"Andromache, you look amazing," Paris said sincerely, taking her right hand and brushing his lips to her knuckles.  She smiled gravely, and Paris noticed the odd expression she wore.

"Andromache, what's the matter?" Paris questioned softly.  He flinched when she jerked away, not looking him in the eye.  The motion sent her earrings swaying, and Hector noticed how sharply they reflected light.

"I will be fine," Andromache said after a moment, straightening herself up.  "Perhaps we should go to the festival."

Taking the hint, Paris nodded.  Electing not to take her arm in his, the pair descended the palace steps evenly.  Briseis waited a moment before following.  Hector sighed, knowing it was proper custom for a male relative to accompany her.  Usually she was permitted to go alone; no one wanted to argue with her and risk the wrath of her fiery temper.  But Hector knew he had better go with her.

"Briseis, wait a moment," Hector said, catching up with her.  He missed the look that Andromache threw him when she heard his voice. 

"Yes, Hector?" she replied, genuinely puzzled.  "What is it?"

"Do you have anyone to accompany you this evening?" Hector asked, trying to sound stern.

"No, but I don't need anyone, if that is what you imply," Briseis said quickly, her voice rising in pitch sharply.  Hector was thankful that his brother and Andromache were out of hearing range.

"I just thought that maybe—" Hector began slowly.

"No, Hector!" Briseis cried.  "I don't need anyone to look after me!  I'm sixteen years old, Hector!  I'm not a baby!"

Hector threw up his hands in exasperation when Briseis turned abruptly and stormed off, her gold sandals clapping sharply against the gray, stone stairs.  Sighing deeply, Hector resigned himself to the difficult task he had originally planned for the evening.

****

Unsure what to make of Andromache's strange mood, Paris decided that the best thing to do was to start off the evening with a good meal.  Though Andromache and Hector had undoubtedly believed that he had spent the last few weeks going about his usual carousing, he had been snooping around the city trying to find out all he could about plans for the festival. 

 His campaign was not easy; learn more about Andromache so he could inform his brother, who was not nearly as easygoing around women as he.  Paris had deliberately asked Andromache out on the first night so could fish for the information his brother would never think of asking.  Briseis had even persuaded her maids to spend the entire week pampering Andromache so he had time to tell his brother everything in time for the next night.  Paris had been proud of his uncharacteristically brilliant plan, at least until he had sighted Andromache's dejected mood.

At a loss for words, an experience that he was not familiar with, Paris sat across from Andromache had a small table.  She picked at her food disinterestedly, which Paris had learned she only did when she was displeased.  Before becoming comfortable at the palace, she had hardly eaten anything. 

"How is it?" Paris asked bravely, nodding at the food on her plate that she had been pushing around for the last five minutes.

"Alright," she replied listlessly, looking down.  Her magnificence had been drawing stares ever since they had left the palace, but she was either oblivious or indifferent to them. 

"Listen, I think there's something you would like," he told her with an impish grin.  Recognizing the mischievous look, Andromache responded more vividly than he could have hoped.

"Paris, what are you planning?" she asked sternly, her eyes narrowing as his smile grew.  She would never admit how much it unnerved her, but Andromache found the playful gleam in his eye as a bad omen promising all kinds of trouble.

"You shall see."

****

Hector tried not to skulk through the streets of Troy, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as he tried to fulfill his self-appointed task.  Shopping was not something he did, really, unless he absolutely had to.  He knew exactly what he wanted to buy, but finding it was a difficult matter.

_I had thought Briseis would be able to help me, but it appears I am on my own,_ Hector thought grimly, remembering her flaring temper.  I don't know where to find such shops…

Many special booths were open during the festival in addition to the normal establishments, so there were even more places to look.  Hector did not have many material possessions aside from his clothes and armor, and those were provided for him.  Searching for things and purchasing them was a process he had never grown familiar with.

Most shops at this end of the city were closed, but occasionally a light would be visible from the window, indicating its open status.  Deciding it would be best to check every possibility, Hector made his way through the deserted-looking street.

Ducking into a promising looking shop, Hector nearly collided with another man.  Apologizing generously, Hector proceeded to enter the store, scanning the shelves with the hope of finally finding it.  He asked the vendor if he sold what he was looking for.

"Oh yes, but I don't have any more bottles," the vendor said sadly, shaking his head.  "I'm afraid it is not a very popular item; it's rare, expensive, and not widely-known.  I'm surprised I even sold my last bottle to that gentleman you just bumped into."

Heart sinking into his belly, Hector gaped.  "That man bought your last bottle?"

"Oh yes, I almost didn't want to part with it, but I left him buy it," the vendor said cheerfully.  "He was absolutely ecstatic, if you ask me.  If you could allow several months, I'm sure I can get my hands on another bottle."

"No, that's not necessary," Hector assured him, wondering if he could catch up to the man who had just bought the last bottle.

_Apollo damn him if there is not another bottle in Troy_, Hector cursed, racing out of the store and into the streets.  I hope I can find him.

****

"…You simply cannot be serious," Andromache stated flatly, arms crossed.  "That is absolutely ridiculous."

"But you will be spectacular!" promised Paris.

"Why did you tell him I would do this _without even asking me first_?" she hissed, glancing nervously at the man's expectant look.  "Especially if I have to wear _that_!"

Paris followed her pointed finger to the bundle of fabric the booth owner held.  Folded neatly, the white cloth was pristine.  Paris did not foresee a problem.

"What's wrong with it?" Paris asked confidently, grabbing it and unfolding it.  Holding it high, as he had expected it to tumble to the ground, he was surprised when the dress ended nearly three feet sooner than he had thought.

"Ah, yes, well…" Paris was speechless.  "Um, it's a very nice shade of…er, white.  It will look absolutely stunning with your coloring."

"Paris, white doesn't have shades, it's white!" Andromache told him, snatching the dress away to inspect if for herself.  "Everyone is capable of looking good in white.  However, color is the least of my problems.  This dress ends _mid-thigh_!"

"Well, it will look stunning on your figure, then," offered Paris, stepping back as if to envision Andromache wearing it.  Obviously pleased with his imaginary results, he nodded.  "I think you should do it."

"No, I won't compromise my modesty for a—a _foot race_!" Andromache shrieked, barely suppressing the urge to rip out Paris's hair.  Throwing the dress back at Paris, he managed to catch it before the white fabric touched the ground.

Paris shrugged.  "It goes along with the game's theme, Atalanta vs. the suitors.  You know how the tale goes.  Atalanta was a very beautiful woman, but since wolves raised her, she was very strong.  Unwilling to marry a man weaker than herself, she issued a challenge: she would marry any man who could beat her in a foot race.  The winner would receive her hand in marriage, but the loser would lose his head."

"If I'm to be Atalanta, what exactly do I collect from the losers?" Andromache asked. "Do I get their lives?"

"What makes you think you will win?" Paris countered.  "A bit over-confident, don't you think, to assume that you will beat the other competitors?"

Narrowing her eyes, Andromache crossed her arms.  She looked disdainfully at Paris.  "I could beat you."

Paris laughed.  "That's very funny, Andromache, dear, but I think not.  I'm not even participating."

"That's because you _know_ I will beat you," Andromache returned, and before he could stop her, she had flagged down the man who ran the booth.  "Sir, I shall serve as Atalanta for the game as long as you wish."

"Good, good," the man said, smiling widely.  "It's simple; attract participants to compete against you in a race.  They pay a fee to compete, and if they win, you have to give them a kiss—" Andromache bristled at this, so he quickly rethought, "or a coin from your own pocket.  Whichever you prefer.  Also, you have to run the next race for me for free.  If you win, you collect a kiss—er, coin, from the winner."

Contemplating this, Andromache peered carefully at the gamer owner, then at Paris.  "What if the "suitor" wins?  Shouldn't something worse happen to him?"

"Well, as much as I like the old tale, I can't have you killing the loser," the booth owner said quickly, a bit uneasy at her interest.  "So the loser will have to put an additional coin in one of three jars.  Each jar represents a golden apple, and once a jar is filled the golden apple will belong to you."

"This is a confusing game," Paris muttered.  "I didn't know it would be so complicated."

"No it's not," Andromache elbowed him lightly on the arm.  "They pay to race; if they win, they get their fee back.  I have to give the winner a coin and I have to run the next race for free and give all the money, whether I win or lose, to the booth manager.  If I win, I keep half of their entry fee, plus I get an additional coin from them so I earn golden apples."

"What will you do with three golden apples?" Paris asked, puzzled.

"I'll shoot them off your head the next time we use your bow for target practice," Andromache said sweetly. 

"You aren't that good," Paris pointed out.  "At least not good enough to be doing that.  I could die!"

"Well, _could_ is much better than _will_, because if I were really Atalanta, your life would definitely be forfeited," Andromache shrugged.  "Unless you're scared, of course.  I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."

"I'll do it, because I know I'll win!" Paris declared.  "And if I win, since I can't marry you as the tale goes, I shall have a kiss.  A chaste one, I promise you, but on the lips in front of everyone."

"Fine, but if, no when, you lose, you have to wear the robe you're holding," Andromache said, pointing to the minuscule article of clothing.  "Tomorrow when you attend the festival."

"It does not matter," Paris muttered, "because I shall win.  Prepare to kiss the lips of the most handsome man in Troy!"

Rolling her eyes, Andromache sighed.  "I don't see him, you'll have to point him out." Receiving a good-natured smack on the arm, Andromache seized the dress from Paris.  "I will change into this…costume, and when I come back, prepare to suffer the most humiliating defeat of your life."


	11. Eleven

**11**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Standing before an abnormally large gathering, Andromache was beginning to wonder who tricked whom into participating in such a game.  Foot a hairsbreadth away from the starting line, her toes sunk into the sand.  Sandals had been forbidden in the race, just as Atalanta herself had not worn hem.  The course was on the beach, brightly lit by torches staked in the ground.

_When did all these people show up?_ Andromache wondered dismally, eyeing the huge crowd.  Audience members were whispering amongst themselves, curious and excited to see the results of such a competition and eager to participate themselves.  Knowing that any feelings of self-consciousness were useless, she tried to focus on the task ahead.

_I wish that manager had told me that I had to catch those golden apples during the race,_ she thought darkly.  _I might not win if I have to go chasing after them.  Fortunately, they have to fall within the course lines that have been drawn.  I should be able to reach them in time, then…_

Andromache looked for the booth manager, who was technically running more of a game than anything at this point.  Though he ran his business from a kiosk, the action happened from without.  Ecstatic at the prospective customers he was drawing, he gleefully signed up competitors and sought a new woman to serve as Atalanta once Andromache tired.

The first race was about to begin.  The crowd had grown silent, gazes riveted on the magnificence of its first two players.  Paris, looking every inch a Trojan prince, had removed his bulky outer robe, leaving his lightweight toga.  The material was soft and graceful, the fit loose and accommodating.  The white folds of fabric billowed; the sinewy strength of his tan arms contrasting strikingly.

With several silver chains, Andromache had managed to mold and manage the excess fabric around her body to allow freedom of movement and modesty.  True, the garment was short, but it had been adjusted so that an embarrassing compromise was highly unlikely.  Sleek legs free of the usual interruptions of robe hems and sandal tops, Andromache reminded Paris of a goddess.

_Not the goddess of beauty_, Paris thought grimly.  _I do not believe Aphrodite is capable of being so fierce.  Although Aphrodite is certainly as competitive…_

Hair still tucked primly in the back of her head with the silver pin, Andromache thought how she looked like Artemis, her mother's murderess.  Though she held no ill feelings towards the Moon Goddess, Andromache found it ironic that she resembled Artemis so.

_I will not let him defeat me_, Andromache swore, concentrating hard focusing her energy.  _Paris looks as regal as Apollo…I look like his twin sister Artemis…is that not a strange development?  However, Artemis does not stand down, even when Apollo issues the challenge._

The manager stood ten feet in front of them, hands raised unnecessarily to hush the mass of onlookers.  Coin poised on the edge of his thumb, Andromache's eyes were trained on the flash of gold that lit up the air high above his head as it flipped.  The almost imperceptible sound of it slapping the back of his hand signaled her start.

Andromache shot off, unused to running in the sand but adapting quickly.  Glad she was no longer in bulky sandals (or a bulky dress, she thought wryly), her movements were unhindered.  Rocks and obstructions had been meticulously eliminated, lowering the danger.

_Apollo damn him, he's quick_, Andromache registered, irritation flashing inside her.  Although accurately guessing him to be fast, she had no idea that he was so swift.  They were running almost even, he was slightly ahead.

_Apollo damn her, I might lose_, Paris cringed inwardly, worry starting to eat away at him when she did not fall far behind.  He had driven himself hard from the very start, hoping to achieve a good lead.  He could tell she was expending effort to keep her pace, but knew she was far from pushing herself.

_The length of my strides versus the power of his,_ Andromache mused, smiling in spite of herself.  Her thoughts were cut off as the first golden apple flew into the air.  Landing ahead of her to the left side, Andromache barely suppressed a scream of irritation when her swiping arm missed it.  Pausing, she managed to grab it, but Paris was a fair distance away.

_Curse him_, spat Andromache, empty fist clenching as if flew through the air.  Sand bit at her heels, skin unaccustomed to running on such an abrasive surface.  The breeze was warm and did nothing to relieve the heated flush that had settled over Andromache's face, neck, and chest.

_She's catching up,_ Paris thought desperately.  Knowing his last throw had barely been within the boundaries of the race, Paris decided to toss back the next apple with less force.  When he did not hear a break in her stride, he looked over his shoulder.

_Damn, she caught the wretched thing,_ he thought sourly, glancing back at the golden apple she was currently lowering to her side before returning his focus ahead.  Gripping the last golden apple tightly to his chest with his right hand, he knew he had to pick the opportune moment.  Catching sight of a sudden bend in the course, he knew it was his last chance.

"No!" Andromache cried, her arm not long enough to catch the last apple he threw.  It landed in the sand, and she retrieved it quickly.  The other two apples were nestled dangerously in the crook of her left arm, and very quickly all three were clutched tightly to her body.

Risking another look back, Paris was horrified to see her catching up to him.  Although the course was roughly one-quarter mile, he had expended most of his energy in the beginning in an attempt to achieve a gap between them.  Throwing the apples had done this, but she was faster than he had realized. 

Andromache had approached the competition in the opposite manner that Paris did; she saved her energy till the end.  As Andromache gained on him, Paris knew his mistake, perfectly willing to admit it.  He ran his fastest, ignoring the aching of his legs as he sprinted his fastest. 

_I won't make it,_ Andromache realized, trying nonetheless to summon all of her speed.  She threw everything she had into her stride, willing it to overcome Paris's.  The feel of blood pounded inside her ears.  Her chest burned as if flames had been stamped into it.

Blocking out the presence of a rival, Paris neared the end of the race.  The sounds of his breath seemed to echo inside his brain; all he could think of was his blazing sensation in his lungs as if they'd been scraped raw by a fiery brand.

_This is it,_ Andromache recognized, the end of the race a moment away.  She prayed for victory as her foot crossed the finish line.

****

Pursuing the cloaked man through the streets of Troy, Hector was thankful he was in excellent physical condition.  Granted, this meant having to admit that the other man was also swift-footed, but Hector was always willing to recognize the talents of others.

Mentally registering his path, Hector knew the man intended to flee the city.  Though the cloaked man did not know the most direct routes towards the gate, he was certainly headed that way.  He had been bearing towards the city gate ever since he had detected the presence of Hector, when he started to run.  Not intending to harm him, Hector was confounded by the suspicious behavior and had proceeded to pursue him. 

Hector rounded a corner sharply, narrowly missing a strike aimed for his head.  Moving swiftly aside, Hector used his arm to block the next blow.  Deciding pure defense was unwise, he returned a punch, which hit the man square in the jaw.

"Why are you following me?" the man demanded, hand coming away bloody after touching his lip.

"I just wanted to talk with you," Hector told him honestly.  His opponent rushed forward; Hector barely reacted in time.  Catching the man's arms, they grappled until the cloaked man was backed against the wall.  A rather loud thud was audible at the contact of his body with the stone.  Uttering the most offensive string of curses that Hector had ever heard, the man protested his opponent's superior strength.

Unwilling to surrender to Hector, the man jerked suddenly, wrenching away from the Trojan's grip.  The man's arm disappeared behind his back, and a knife from out of nowhere appeared, its silver blade glinting as it slashed down.  The flash of silver descended like a bolt of lightning.

Not having anything to block the blade, Hector hissed sharply as the metal bit open his flesh.  Blood spurted and welled up at the long diagonal cut the dagger had left.  The cloaked man stepped back, as if dazed and apologetic for what he had just done.

The knife was sheathed.  "I…I didn't mean to," the man began, keeping his distance but lowering his hands compliantly.  Disbelief and awkwardness crept into the voice.  "Oh…Zeus damn it all…what did I just—"

So flustered at his actions, the man took off, leaving Hector to bind his injury.  He sat, reaching down to finger the hem of his garment.  He calmly ripped a strip from the bottom of his toga, the white fabric instantly soaking crimson once it contacted his skin.  On his upper arm, the wound was clearly visible to all. 

Jerking suddenly, Hector was on his feet in an instant.  The scent of blood had given way to something else.  Eyes drifting closed and a heavy sigh escaping his lips, Hector groaned when he realized its source.

****

Hunched over and gasping for breath, Andromache did not care that she looked unladylike.  She was barely standing, and her hands were braced precariously on her kneecaps, which were quivering from exertion.  Air could barely make it too her lungs through the rapid breaths.  Each inhale was immediately chased by a forceful exhale, and Andromache felt she would never be able to relish the feel of oxygen in her body ever again.

Paris had collapsed three steps away from her, on his hands and knees.  He desperately sought air as well, dropping his head so its crown touched the beach.  The tiny grains of sand stuck to his damp skin.  His arms shook, and soon he was resting on his elbows. 

Paris looked up, sand falling like rain back onto the beach.  "Who won?" he managed to ask in one breath.

"I" _pant_ "don't" _pant_ "know," Andromache replied, using her free hand to brush a stray lock of hair from the clammy flesh of her cheek.  The other two apples had fallen by her feet, the third still clutched in the hand that rested on her knee.

"…I know you two were really excited about this race," the manager began, approaching them both.  "But you won't be happy when I tell you the winner."

"One of us" _pant_ "will be," Paris assured him.  "Tell" _pant_ "us."

"Well…" he trailed off, unwilling to look either of them in the eye.

"Who won?" Andromache demanded breathlessly, straightening up.

"It was a tie!" he cried, recoiling from them as if waiting to be struck.  "You crossed the line at the same time.  The crowd is split down the middle…they cannot fairly say there was a winner."

"But I ran faster!" Andromache proclaimed, holding up the apple she still clutched in her hand.  "I had to stop and pick two of them up!"

"That was a condition of the race," Paris told her.  "But I would have still beaten you if I were the one chasing after the apples!"

"Oh really?" taunted Andromache, throwing the golden fruit at his feet.  "I don't think you could."

"I _know_ I could," Paris swore, approaching her darkly, the ball of his foot resting on the smooth surface of the apple.  With a sudden jolt, his foot slipped backwards and his toe slid underneath.  With a quick bend of the knee, he sent the fruit flying up, where he caught it swiftly.  "How about another round?"

"Of course," Andromache promised.

"Um, perhaps it would be best to allow other couples to compete," the manager advised, holding the two forgotten apples.  Paris wordlessly handed over the third.

"We are not a _couple_," Andromache said in a low voice.  "But I have no problem with waiting.  Paris obviously needs more time to gather his strength, so I will oblige."

"That's odd, because I was going to wait so the lady could rest," Paris muttered.  "She is still very weary from the race, and it would be unfair of me to demand another round so quickly."

Andromache narrowed her eyes infinitesimally.  "Perhaps it would be good of both of us to relax, for the time being," she said evenly.  "I want to see how other couples fare."

Paris nodded.  "In two hours we race again.  We will both be adequately rested and we are giving the other competitors ample time to race.  Is that acceptable?"

Andromache agreed.  "Absolutely."

_For Paris not being directly involved, this night has certainly been frustrating,_ Hector mused.  _I'm not too far away the man now; I hear his footsteps.  He is close…_

The guards that were supposed to be on duty were nowhere to be found.  Hector saw the outline of their helmets as he ran for the beach.  Their backs turned to the city, a group of soldiers had congregated together along the sand.

_Why are they so far outside the gates?_ Hector wondered.  _Most of the festivities are happening inside the city.  That is where I expected to find them at this hour._

A movement to his left caught his attention.  It was the running man.  Hector ran after his target, oblivious to whatever was going on to his right.  The man turned and caught sight of him, changing direction immediately.  Planning to lose Hector in the throng of people gathered on the beach, he ran towards the brightly lit scene.

_Are they racing?_ Hector thought wildly, glancing over at the crowd before returning his attention to the fleeing man.  He slipped effortlessly into the crowd, an easy feat due to his slimness and speed.  Hector hurried after him, having a slightly more difficult time parting the sea of individuals.

_All the adolescents of Troy must be on this beach,_ Hector grumbled inwardly, trying to be halfway polite as he pushed people aside.  He thought the man had succeeded in disappearing until he caught sight of the tail of his cloak.

_Why is he even wearing a cloak on a night like this?_ Hector groaned, resorting to criticism to ease his weary mind.  The Trojan prince had run through several miles of his city; perspiration clung to his face and neck, his feet ached from his uncomfortable sandals.  Thanking the gods he was not wearing armor, Hector continued to move forward.

"Ooh, look!" someone gasped on his right.  "Paris and that woman are going to race again."

"I hope she wins, she is absolutely divine," sighed a girl.

"Prince Paris will obviously win, he's stronger," muttered an old man.

"But she did marvelously during the first round," pointed out a woman.

Wondering vaguely what his brother had gotten himself into, Hector was surprised to see that the cloaked man had stopped completely, focused on the race.  It was indeed Paris who stood at the starting line, clutching three golden apples.  The woman to his right was Andromache.

_That dress was Paris's idea_, thought Hector immediately, eyes raking over the diminutive garment Andromache wore.  _I told him to behave tonight, but this is a much more respectable situation than _last_ year_…_Oh well, at least Paris isn't wearing one too._

Hector made his way to the shrouded man, careful not to make a sound.  Even though everyone was talking around them, he did not want to add to the disturbance.  As if unconsciously sensing the approach of his hunter, the man shuffled to the right, away from the advancing Hector.  Yet the movement suggested an odd hesitance.

Hector looked at the brightly colored cloth banner than hung above the starting line. 

_Atalanta vs. The Suitors?_  Hector pondered.  _She certainly looks as fierce as Atalanta.  He had better hope he does not lose…Andromache cannot take his life, but I know there are definitely some…_possessions_…that Paris would not wish to part with…But why is that man still watching them?  They haven't even started yet._

Hector stared evenly at the man's shadowed face as he turned around slowly.  Hector knew he was being looked directly in the eye.  For seemingly an eternity, both men refused to back down.

To the Hector's surprise, the man bolted.  Instead of heading back into the crowd, he ran towards the race where Andromache and Paris had just left the starting line.  Oblivious to the man charging their way, both competitors focused solely on winning.

****

Andromache was muttering oaths that would make her brothers proud.  Her foot had slipped in the sand after several steps, and though there was no injury, she definitely lost her lead.  Paris swept in front of her, throwing her a jaunty grin over his left shoulder as he tossed an apple over it. 

Andromache could not reach the apple in time to catch it, but was successful in scooping it up smoothly.  Paris's glance darted back, his smile now gone.  His mind raced as fast as his legs, attempting to figure out when he should throw her the next one. 

_Curses_, Paris grumbled, deciding she was getting to close again.  As he traveled a sharp bend, he released the next apple in exactly the same spot he had released one in the previous race.  He felt his spirits rise when she did not catch it as she did prior.  His relief was quashed when he saw her scoop it up as easily as she had the first time.

Mumbling unhappily under his breath, Paris sent the last apple moving swiftly through the air.  As the golden fruit went flying, its delicate sheen reflected the light of dozens of torches.  Andromache watched helplessly as the apple sailed over her head and raised hands, landing a considerable distance behind her. 

"_No_," Andromache gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth when she realized she had spoken aloud.  She swiftly turned and retrieved the fruit, but knew Paris was too far ahead for her to have a reasonable chance of catching up.  Andromache kept her fast pace, desperately clutching the two apples in her hands.  They were gold plated bronze; their smooth, hard surface unyielding in her grasp.

_He's going to win_, Andromache realized, heart sinking.  Squeezing her eyes shut in a last burst of strength, she pushed herself harder.

****

Paris was within sight of the finish line when he risked another glance back at Andromache.  She was getting closer, but he doubted she would catch him in time.  Though she was running faster, the distance between them would be obsolete if he was a mere step ahead at the end of the race. 

The gap was disappearing, and Paris realized that her determination to win might cost him the race.  Not even a step behind him now, he glanced over as they ran abreast.  Her skin flushed from heat, her face perspiring from effort, and her breath ragged from strain, Paris found her to be more dignified than any other woman he had ever seen.  She upheld pride, strength, and resolve far better than he knew himself capable of. 

Andromache felt her heart give a twist as her foot crossed the finish line, knowing that she and Paris had once again achieved a tie.  The burning in her lungs was no match for the pain of walking away empty handed.  Paris had driven her to race him twice and she had gotten nothing in return. 

The crowd was displeased with the tie.  Trying to placate his audience, the manager told Andromache and Paris that they had to surrender two of the apples.  Allowing Andromache to keep the third as a gift of thanks for drawing such a crowd, he assured her that he had more.  The manager then proceeded to swiftly arrange the next race.

"Don't you want this back?" Andromache asked, realizing she had kept the white robe for over two hours.  She trotted over to him, trying to slow down and even out her breathes.

"Keep it as another reminder," the game manager told her quickly, waving off her concern.  "You were the first Atalanta, so you can keep it."

As he rushed away, Andromache knew he was simply anxious to take advantage of his audience and probably left her keep it more as a convenience of time.  She walked back to Paris.

"We are racing again," the prince swore softly, between gulping huge breaths of air.  Though he did not collapse in the sand as he had the previous race, he looked even more depleted.  The golden beads that hung in his limp hair shone brightly with sweat. 

"No," Andromache told him firmly.  "It will end in another tie."

The look that flitted across his features told Andromache that Paris thought the same, but he stood up straight and looked at her sternly.  "This is not over, Andromache.  I _will_ defeat you."

"You will _not_!" hissed Andromache, gripping her apple tightly in her right hand.  She succumbed to her childish impulse and threw it at him.  His quick reflexes prevented a potentially embarrassing injury.

"That was uncalled for," Paris declared, eyeing Andromache critically.  He lowered the apple and curled his fist around it.  "Why are you so belligerent tonight?  You usually keep that passionate side of you locked away…a combination of control and decorum.  But tonight you actually competed in a race…twice!  What made you so competitive all of the sudden?"

"I—" Andromache did not know what to say.  Shaking her head furiously, she stormed off towards the city walls.  Paris followed her, demanding an answer.

"Andromache, what's wrong?" he asked, concern creeping into her voice.  He gently touched her arm, trying to force her to look at him.  She flinched from his sincere gesture, a move that irked Paris.

Andromache entered the gate.  She looked at him, then turned abruptly.  As she rushed through the streets to the palace, Paris's irritation grew.  Ignoring the countless people that ran through the streets during the festival's prime hour, laughing and smiling, the somber pair headed home.  When they reached the steps of the palace, Paris's patience snapped.

"What are you so agitated about?" Paris demanded, gripping her arms tightly.

"My family!" Andromache cried.  "I'm worried about my family.  I thought of them today…right before I left the palace.  It was the first time I really sat and thought about them since I grew comfortable here, and I was absolutely ashamed that I had not done so more!  When I arrived at this city, on my first day your father told me that your city was having problems with the Greeks in the Dardanelles.  Lésvos has been dealt with, but surely all Greek threats cannot be resolved in the same manner."

Paris looked at her sorrowfully, not expecting her answer.  "No, I do not suppose they will.  However, my brother will protect this city."

"But who will protect _mine_?" Andromache demanded, ashamed that tears had not only found their way into her eyes, but into her voice.  Throat raw with the threat of crying, she continued.

"The Greeks are a danger to Thebe as well; that is why my father wanted me to marry your brother," Andromache told him.  "But how do I know they are safe?  It is not fair for me to be safer than they!  Who will make sure they survive?"

"I—I don't know," Paris finished lamely.  Troy and Thebe had no military agreement with each another, that much he was sure.  The arranged marriage had not truly been political, either.  It had been for Andromache's safety.

"I feel guilty living in such a beautiful place," Andromache went on.  "My home is close to the ocean, yet the mountains it rests upon are not fortified by the impressive army of the Trojans.  Thebe does not have a hero such as Hector."

"…What would you have me do?" Paris asked her gently.  His passionate dark eyes met her equally tempestuous ones.  "I can only promise that I will come to the aid of Thebe if Greek invades.  I cannot speak for Troy."

Andromache gave him a small smile.  "That is enough for me," she said softly.  "I am just being foolish.  Forgive me for my fear and for my appalling behavior earlier.  As much as I wanted to win, I should not have acted as I did.  I am sorry for treating you so badly.  I hope you aren't angry with me."

"I'm not angry at you," Paris reassured her.  He gave her a tight, quick squeeze.  "Although you could make it up to me by giving me that kiss I was supposed to win."

Andromache smacked his arm.  "Will you ever become a proper gentleman?" she sighed.

"I think being a gentleman is the least of his problems at the moment," a voice said firmly.  Andromache whirled around to face a cloaked man.  He chuckled at her shock, lowering his black hood and exposing his face.  "Hello, Andromache."

Andromache stared in disbelief.  _Theseus…_


	12. Twelve

**12**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Andromache felt her breath escape her lungs.  Hand clutched to her chest as if to calm her pounding heart, she lifted her eyes meekly to meet her brother's.  His warm, sherry-colored eyes sparkled back merrily.  Roguish grin slid perfectly into place, he tilted his head to the side in a slightly mocking gesture.

"Speechless?" he asked her, grin widening.

"It's—" she began, mouth clamping shut, then opening, then closing slowly. 

"What ever is the matter, Andromache, darling?" he questioned, smile almost maniacal at this point.

Andromache just stared at him, not protesting when he drew her into an embrace.  She was stiff as a wooden plank in his arms when he released her.

"What is going on here?" Paris demanded finally, wondering why she was allowing a complete stranger to hug her.

"Hello, I'm Theseus," the man replied, drawing back and looking Paris up and down.  His firm hand gripped Paris's limp one in a handshake.  "You look a bit…younger than I imagined."

"Oh no, that is Paris, Hector's younger brother," Andromache told Theseus, who was looking strangely relieved.

"Good, I was worried there for a moment," he said quickly, turning back to face his sister.

"What do you mean by that?" Paris demanded sharply. 

"What happened?" Andromache asked, ignoring an indignant Paris.  Her slender finger and sharp eyes were trained on his lower lip, which was splitting grotesquely at the large smile he continued to wear.

"Oh, um, I got into a fight," he said sheepishly, holding up his arms when an angry look appeared on Andromache's face.  "I did not start this one, I promise!"

"You always claim to be innocent but you never are," Andromache accused.  "Why should I believe you?"

"And when have I ever falsely claimed innocence?" Theseus questioned resentfully.

"The incident when you threw my undergarments out my bedroom window!" Andromache cried, pointing a finger at his chest.

"I was not responsible for that!" Theseus said indignantly.

"I was standing outside and saw the whole thing," Andromache told him.  "You _waved_ to me from the second story window!"

"But I never said I didn't do it," Theseus reasoned.

"Yes you did!" Andromache exclaimed.  "You just said that you didn't!"

Theseus considered this for a moment.  "I don't see how I hurt anything.  It was ages ago.  You had too many undergarments anyway."

"I'm a girl, I'm supposed to have more," Andromache shrieked.

Theseus looked thoughtful.  Blinking several times, he eventually answered.  "That makes sense, I suppose."

Andromache rolled her eyes.  "Anyway, what happened to your lip?"

"Oh, I was…er, _out_…and suddenly some man started chasing me," Theseus said slowly.  His tone became decidedly joyful as he continued.  "He said he just wanted to talk and I did not believe him, so naturally I tried to fight him.  Unfortunately, I threw my punch without getting a close look at the man, and when I did, I am sad to report that I regret doing so.  All the men in this great city, and I had to run into one with the gigantic muscles of a cursed Greek god."

"_Theseus_!" Andromache hissed.  "Be reverential of the gods!"

"I meant no disrespect," Theseus said, wounded.  "I just meant that I have terrible luck.  At any rate, I had to finish what I started, so when the man started to overpower me, I took desperate measures."

Burying her face in her hands, Andromache shook her head as he continued cheerfully.  "I am not proud of what I did next," Andromache groaned, "but I had no choice.  I pulled out my knife and—"

"Zeus, what is the matter with you?" Andromache interrupted.  "Do you never think?"

"I did not kill the man," Theseus said stiffly.  "I just…cut him a little…"

Stopping mid-breath, Andromache grabbed the front of his cloak.  "_Cut_ him?"

"Er…yes, I did," Theseus replied meekly.  "But it could have been worse, honest!"

"What did you do then?" Andromache asked exasperatedly. 

Theseus's gaze dropped suddenly.  "I…um, well…I…ran off," he finished quickly.

Andromache released his cloak and leaned back, her body hitting a cool stone pillar.  She tapped her head against the granite structure.  "Theseus, you still did not answer my question.  How did you hurt your lip?"

"He punched me!" Theseus told her triumphantly, finding one negative aspect of the entire ordeal he was not responsible for. 

"Now was this before or after you pulled a knife on him?" Paris questioned, finally taking part in the conversation.

"Um…before," Theseus said weakly.  "But it really hurt!  And I'm not proud of what I did, Andromache, honest.  I did not mean to hurt anyone!  All I was after was—"

Theseus's untimely pause led to Andromache's raised eyebrow.  "Yes?"

"Remember that bottle of perfume that Mother used to have, the one that I broke?" Theseus asked quickly.

"Yes," Andromache replied, nodding slowly.

"Well, I happened upon another bottle," Theseus told her.  "And I wanted to give it to you.  After I bought it, I ran into someone on the way out.  It was the same man who gave chase to me."  A moment of silence passed.  "Now that I think about it, he probably just wanted to buy the bottle off of me."

Shaking her head in exasperation, Andromache sighed.  "Theseus, you are an idiot."

"But I would not have sold it to him, not for a chest full of gold," Theseus declared nobly, ignoring her comment.

"So you decided that you would _stab_ him instead?" Paris asked icily.

"I was in a strange city being chased at night through unfamiliar streets," explained Theseus.  "But what I need to tell you is that during our little dispute, I lost the bottle."

"You lost it?" Andromache asked.

"It fell out of my robes," admitted Theseus. 

"Why did you actually buy the perfume, though?" Andromache queried.  "I cannot imagine you willingly walking into a perfume shop unless you were looking for something specific."

Theseus lowered his voice.  "Truthfully, I was looking for it," he said softly.  "I know what I bought you last year for your birthday was quite—Apollo, you're wearing them!  I never thought you would actually—"

"Wear them?" Andromache finished coolly.

"Well, er, yeah," Theseus affirmed sheepishly.  "Sort of a joke, really, but they reminded me of you nonetheless.  It's nice you wear them."

Andromache's hand flew to her ear.  "But it's the first time, I assure you, and most likely the last."

"Still, you've got them on and that's all that matters," Theseus said smugly.  "And that race you ran!  I saw it.  I was watching in the audience."

"You were?" Andromache asked. 

"Yes, although I was—" Theseus stopped mid-sentence, freezing.  In an instant he was off, flattening himself against one of the stone pillars, eyes fixed at something moving around in the darkness.  He pointed nervously.

"What is it?" Andromache questioned, confused at her brother's sudden actions. 

"Me," Hector replied.  Andromache's head snapped around.  Hector held out his hand towards Theseus.  "I believe you dropped this."

Theseus eyed the cloth-wrapped bundle dangling from Hector's fist apprehensively.  "I think I'd much prefer to stay over here, thank you."

"No, I insist you take it," Hector said.  "After listening to your explanation, I cannot fault you for wanting it so badly.  I am sorry for frightening you earlier, but I did not want you to slip away."

"And why were you so intent on buying some?" Theseus asked suspiciously.  "Such an item is not well-known enough to gather much interest."  He glanced at Hector skeptically.  "I'd imagine it would not smell terribly nice on you, either."

"I wanted it for my betrothed," Hector snapped, shaking the bundle.  Theseus darted forward, snatching it away quickly before returning to his supposed safety.  Once again pressed to the stone pillar, he looked at Hector critically.

"Well, it's a shame that she won't be getting it, because I bought the last one," Theseus sniffed.  "Tell your betrothed I am sorry, but I'm afraid she will not be receiving the perfume this evening."

Hector looked at Theseus for a moment before turning to Andromache.  Theseus's eyes narrowed at the almost sorrowful look Hector gave him.

"Please forgive me, but I am afraid you will not be receiving the perfume this evening," Hector repeated to Andromache. 

Theseus looked carefully at Hector, then at Andromache, then back at Hector.  He blinked twice before sliding all the way down the length of the pillar, settling abruptly on his bottom.

"So…how is that arm doing, Prince Hector?" asked Theseus gamely, wincing at the cheery tone.  "Looks like you have that bleeding under control."

"I have received worse," Hector told him calmly.  "Although I do not take kindly to knives being drawn on me.  I was not in my right mind this evening, I fear.  Giving chase at the dead of night was unwise.  I am sorry."

Standing up quickly, Theseus inhaled deeply.  "I forgive you, of course," he said stiffly.  His eyes lowered and his voice softened.  "And…I hope you will forgive me?"

"Yes," Hector reassured him.  "But I must warn you about the perfume bottle."

"Oh, yes," Theseus said absently, remembering that he carried it.  He gently unwound the cloth around the object.  As soon as he laid eyes on it, he looked stricken.  He sucked in a breath.  "What happened?"

"When you pulled out your knife, it plunged from the lining of your cloak," Hector told him softly.  "It did not survive the fall.  I am sorry."

"Oh, well I—" Theseus began, looking absolutely crushed.  "Andromache, I'm sorry.  I never did have much luck with gifts."

"But you have luck with other things," Andromache consoled.  "I still love you, Theseus."

Theseus gave her a small smile.  "I feel so terrible.  I wish I could make it up to you."

"Don't worry, Theseus, I'm not angry," Andromache said.  "In fact, I'm touched that you thought of me.  And at a festival such as this, I am surprised you were not chasing women through the streets."

"I was," Theseus admitted.  "But only one.  She wouldn't have me, though."

"I'm sorry, Theseus," Andromache said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

"She would not even accept the hair ribbon I bought for her," Theseus said mournfully.  He pulled out a beautiful pink ribbon made of silk.  "I even picked the one that matched her gown and lovely lips."

Andromache blinked.  "Was she very pretty?"

"Of course," Theseus replied indignantly.  "But I was surprised that a girl that beautiful was all by herself.  Usually they are found in the company of men.  But perhaps she was looking for one."

"Oh, for the love of Apollo," muttered Andromache.  She turned to Hector.  "He found Briseis, of all people."

"Well, at least we know her judgment is still sound," Paris said wryly, giving Theseus a withering look.

"How could I have even thought that you were Hector?" Theseus returned.  "You're too short and frail…I bet you're a coward, too."

"And who did I see flattened to that stone pillar at the mere sight of my older brother?" Paris countered.

"In all fairness, I did better against your older sibling than you did against my younger one," Theseus said archly, motioning towards Andromache.  "I got the last hit."

"That's because you ran away!" Paris pointed out.

"I made the intelligent decision to stop while I was ahead," Theseus corrected.  "But you and my sister raced twice, obtaining a tie both times.  You wanted to race again, knowing that it would likely end up the same.  That was not terribly bright, I'm afraid."

Rolling his eyes at the infantile direction this exchange was heading in, Hector interceded.  "Boys, that is enough," he said firmly.

"I'm not a boy," Theseus insisted.  "I'm almost twenty."

"You look thin enough to be fourteen," Paris muttered.

"And you are short enough to be twelve!" Theseus shot back.

"Theseus, let's find you a room in the palace," Andromache cut in, grabbing Theseus's arm and guiding him towards the opening of the palace.  "You can tell me the real reason why you're here after we get there."

" Why don't I tell you tomorrow during the next night of the festival?" Theseus suggested, pausing at the entrance. 

"That night is for my brother," Paris said resolutely, still within earshot.  "She will spend it with _him_."

"I will spend my time with whomever I wish," Andromache snapped, walking up to Paris.  "However, I did intend to spend that night at the festival with Hector.  I'm sorry, Theseus."

"Oh, that's fine, I'll just spend the third night with you, Andromache," Theseus told her, unconcerned with the slight change in plans.

"You will not!" Briseis declaration was firm.  She had walked up to the group unnoticed, just when Paris and Theseus had started discussing the distribution of Andromache's time.

"Why not?" Theseus asked, admiring her exquisite face, which looked about as welcoming as the coils of a python.  Accustomed to feistiness, Theseus was not put off in the slightest.  "I don't see a problem."

Looking absolutely incensed, Briseis was looking furiously at the Theban, who was beginning to wither under her wrathful glare.  "Andromache is spending that night with _me_!"

"…Alright, the third night is yours," Theseus conceded quickly, eyes darting nervously at the angry maiden.  Lovely as she looked in pink, Theseus thought she was more fit for a stronger color…most definitely red. 

"Why can't you wait a night?" Hector asked Briseis gently. 

"Because she's the only female relative my age," Briseis began stridently, and then lowered her voice, "aside from Cassandra.  But she will not leave the palace.  Her prophecies occur when many people are around, all of them unwilling to believe her, as was Apollo's curse.  But she does not speak of that.  Cassandra much prefers to spend her time with your mother, Hector, and I doubt that years of practical solitude can be abandoned at my request.  Andromache is a lot of fun, and I want to spend time with her."

Hector sighed and nodded.  "Briseis, spend the third night with Andromache, then.  Theseus, because you are her brother and are a part of her life that she does not wish to leave, I want you to spend the second night with her.  I am sure she will have a better time with you than with me."

Theseus looked guiltily at Hector.  "Thank you," he said sincerely, not knowing what else to say.

"Andromache, if you will have me, I would much like to spend the fourth night of the festival with you," he appealed respectfully. 

Andromache nodded dazedly.  "Yes, I would," she said, her eyes meeting his for an instant.  She could tell that he did not want to give up his night with her, but that he was doing it so she could spend time with Theseus.

"Thank you," Hector murmured, bowing his head respectfully to Andromache.  "I would be honored to spend an evening in your company."  He met her eyes for a moment before continuing.  "I have had a very long night, so I think I should attend to my wound and retire early."  He nodded to all of them politely and left without further ceremony. 

All four of them watched him leave, feeling guilty at having left him out.  Andromache looked especially depressed, leaning against the stone entryway, her eyes gazing at the spot where he disappeared.  When Hector had gone, Theseus found himself cornered by Briseis and Paris. 

"You should feel pretty pleased with yourself," Paris snapped.  "You took up the time that my brother was looking forward to."

"I was more than happy to wait, but he insisted," Theseus defended.  "And if I recall correctly, is it really proper for _you_ to spend the first night with her?"

"It is your fault for showing up!" Briseis cried.  "You disrupted everything!  Now Hector has pushed back his plans for two nights!"

"And what of you?" Theseus demanded, turning to her.  Unaccustomed to such confrontation, Briseis stiffened.  He bristled further when he threw the silk ribbon at her chest, where she caught it numbly.  "You were the one who was completely _adamant _about spending the third night with her!  I was willing to spend any time, whenever convenient for her, because I love my sister and I would have taken whatever I could."

"But you just _happened_ to take the earliest possible time," Briseis bit out.  "Which was supposed to be—"

"Enough!" Theseus told her decisively, raising his voice.  Briseis found herself unable to match the determination in his gaze.  Her gaze softened as she watched him whirl away from her abruptly, over to where his sister stood forlornly.  Feeling absolutely ashamed at her earlier behavior, Briseis watched as Theseus soothed the weeping princess.

"Shhh, don't cry, darling," Theseus whispered, smoothing his hand up and down her back tenderly.  "I did not mean to upset you.  I know you don't like fuss over you.  I'm sorry for arguing with them, Andromache.  I should not have acted so poorly."

Andromache murmured something softly that only he could hear, then began to sob again.

"You can say that if you want, but I know I'm solely responsible for ruining your night," Theseus said firmly.  "You are my dear, sweet baby sister, Andromache.  I promise you that I will behave.  You will have so much fun tomorrow that you will be in the best of spirits when you accompany Briseis and Hector later this week.  I want you to enjoy yourself, darling.  I hate to see you frown."

Just to prove his point, Theseus made a face at her.  Laughing through her tears, Andromache fell against him as he gave her a reassuring squeeze.  "You're silly, Theseus."

Theseus grinned crookedly.  "Yes, sometimes.  But you never see the serious side of me.  Come on, now.  Let's find me a room so I can figure out something fun for us tomorrow.  Might be difficult, seeing as how I love trouble so much, but I think I can manage."

Smiling at his earnestness, Andromache took his arm and led him into the palace.  Briseis and Paris watched them go, looking down at their feet before tentatively meeting each other's eyes.

"I feel awful," Briseis said sorrowfully.  "I did not know we would make her so upset when we argued."

"Yes, I know the feeling," Paris muttered absently.  "He was absolutely marvelous with her.  I can always make her angry, but calming her down is never a strength of mine."

"He is not so bad," Briseis conceded.  "He bought me a hair ribbon earlier, but I declined."

"Why?" Paris wondered.

"No boy has ever given me a gift before," Briseis admitted.  "Besides you and Hector and Uncle Priam, of course.  I didn't know what to do or say or how to act.  I sort of stared at him then walked away."

"Dear Cousin, I think you may have hurt his feelings," Paris told her.

"He will recover," Briseis said.  "But I wish I would have acted nicer towards him."

"He has only just arrived," Paris pointed out.  "Andromache says he is the greatest Theban ever born.  Perhaps he will win you over by the end of the festival?"

"No," Briseis said firmly.  "I don't foresee that happening.  I just want to learn more about him."  She clutched the ribbon in her palm.  "I have never met anyone so adept at matching colors before.  Perhaps he has the same artist's eye that his sister possesses."

"He was the one who bought her those silver earrings," Paris told her.  "But I think he did it as a joke."

"Oh," Briseis muttered.  She looked as if she were in deep concentration before her features underwent a spectacular change.  "Oh no!"

Hand clapped to her mouth, Briseis looked absolutely stricken.  She looked around frantically, as if barely able to contain dismay.

"What is it?" Paris wondered, concerned with her reaction.

"I just realized something!" she declared, pacing around in anxious circles.   

"What did you just realize?" Paris asked her tensely, watching the feverish movement of her feet up to the frantic motion of her hands.

Briseis looked him straight in the eye.  "I'll have to change Andromache's wardrobe!"

Shoulders falling helplessly, Paris sighed.  Briseis was bustling around him, counting off numbers on her fingers, muttering under her breath, and walking back and forth in alarmingly erratic circles.

"Now, if I were to switch the violet dress with the ultramarine one, do you think that the two colors are too similar for her to wear on consecutive nights?" Briseis asked worriedly.  "I mean, I thought that ultramarine would be the best color for her to wear when she went with Hector, but I had a violet one planned for the fifth night, and those two colors are awfully similar to someone who is not an expert on colors…"

_This night is going to get a lot longer, _Paris thought wearily, sitting down on the palace steps, preparing for a very long stay.


	13. Thirteen

**13**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Apparently Briseis's schedule had been shaken up by the events the last evening, for Andromache's room was free of maids the next morning.  Perhaps they were attending to Theseus, who had slept in the servants' quarters next door.  He had not pressed for any kind of special sleeping chambers; he had passed out only moments after receiving a blanket, sprawling unceremoniously on the stone floor.

In her own room the previous night, Andromache had pulled out her hairpin, taken out her earrings, and slipped out of her dress before donning a simple ivory robe.  She had slipped into her bed and fell asleep instantly, well rested when she awoke the next day.

Sliding the covers off, Andromache sat in her bed for a moment, thinking about all the reasons why Theseus could be in Troy.  Her brother was a rascal at times but very devoted to the military he faithfully served.  Though Theseus was a good fighter, she knew he did not care for it.  He had left for the mountains when he was seventeen, buying an estate in the countryside so he could raise animals.

Andromache seated herself at her dresser and picked up the golden apple she had earned the day before.  Fingerprints marred its shiny surface, but she carefully used the edge of her dressing gown to wipe them away.  She nearly dropped the fruit on her lap at the loud banging on her door.

"Andromache, darling?" Theseus called cheerfully from the doorway.  "Open up!"

Bristling, Andromache turned to him.  "Why do you insist on calling me that? I'm—"

"—No one's darling, yes, I know," Theseus finished.  She knew he was leaning gleefully against the door, smirking at her irritation.  "I've just called you that since you we found out you were arranged to be married…because I knew you despised it.  I would always joke that your husband would call you darling…I've fallen into the habit, now, Andromache, _darling_, and there is nothing I can do to change it."

Grumbling about a wide variety of her brother's bad habits, Andromache stood and threw open her door.  Theseus fell forward when the door he had been leaning against was gone, and Andromache swiftly sidestepped.  Only his quick reflexes saved him from a humiliating fall at her feet.

Straightening up, Theseus cleared his throat with dignity.  "Ah, a beautiful morning to you, dear sister.  How are you feeling?"

"Lovely," Andromache deadpanned.  "Though it might get better once you tell me why you're here."

"Ah yes," Theseus said slowly, giving her a look she could not decipher.  "I promise I'm not running from the law or what have you, so do not worry about that."

Andromache eyed with warily.  "I believe you," she told him, "but I know you are not in Troy to buy me a birthday present.  Something's wrong."

A light died in Theseus's sherry-colored eyes.  "And why do you say that?"

"You're in the army, Theseus," she said.  "And you are loyal to the country.  You would not be here unless there was a problem…and you needed my help."

Theseus peered at her intently, a look of sheer melancholy in his eyes.  "You are my sister, Andromache.  I am supposed to be the one who helps you.  But in this situation, I find myself without power.  By the summer solstice, you shall know what brings me here.  Until then, I can do nothing."

"What are you talking about, Theseus?" Andromache asked, her hands being held tightly by her brother's.

"There is nothing I can do," Theseus told her earnestly.  "Until the end of the week, that is.  But until then, I want to have fun and learn all about the city you're going to live in."

Andromache sighed when she realized the finality of his tone.  "We can do that tonight, can't we?"

"Then tell me how you feel about your marriage?" Theseus asked seriously, keeping his voice low.  He led them into the hall, which Andromache found odd considering the very private nature of the conversation.  "When you left Thebe, I heard you were absolutely livid.  But last night, I could have sworn you did not want him to leave."

"It's difficult to say," Andromache murmured, her slow pace matching her brother's as they traipsed down the hallway.  "Hector is a good man, of that much I am sure.  I know we can at least get along well.  But when we are alone…there is something more than friendship between us."

"Then you are…um…er…" Theseus looked pained as he attempted to find the right words.  "Do you…together, are you two…oh, Apollo damn it, you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Theseus, you simply must stop cursing so much," Andromache chided.  "I understand what you are asking.  But no, we have not even kissed."

"Not even gotten close?" Theseus asked hopefully.  "For your sake, I'm relieved he does not look anything like Father did when he tried to win over Mother."

Andromache chuckled.  "But he made Mother happy, at least until her father died.  That's when she went into mourning…and begged Artemis to kill her.  Which she did, which I suppose is an odd form of blessing when you recall how much she despaired."

"Andromache, I've been thinking about that," Theseus admitted.  "About Mother.  That is why I remembered the perfume.  I thought about how Mother was so unhappy that she wanted to die…and it would break my heart if you would ever want the same.  I need you to promise me that no matter what happens to the family, you will continue to live and seek happiness."

Andromache narrowed her eyes and turned to him, stopping abruptly.  "Theseus, what is all this about?" she demanded tensely.  "Why are you making me promise such a thing?"

"Andromache…please," Theseus pleaded with her softly.  "Just promise me you will."

Andromache felt her eyes prick with tears at his tone.  Only once had he ever been so cheerless that she recalled.  "I promise."

"Okay," Theseus breathed, looking relieved.  Smiling suddenly, a gleam of mischief appeared in his eye.  "About kissing him…I never did learn if you two even got close."

Andromache lowered her eyes.  "Yes, we got close, but we were interrupted by Paris," she whispered.

"Apollo damn him, I knew he was trouble," Theseus declared, shaking his fist.  He stalked down the hall, proclaiming loudly, "I shall hunt him down and punish him for such a blunder!"

Down the hall, Briseis was heading for the woman's quarters, presumably to take a bath.  She jumped at Theseus's loud proclamation before continuing on her way.

Laughing, Andromache chased after him, grabbing his arm.  "It is alright, Theseus.  Hector and I will have plenty of other chances."

"Yes, but he is a gentleman and might not take proper advantage of them," Theseus wailed. 

"Why are you so concerned about it?" Andromache asked.

"Because, darling, I desperately yearn for a dozen nieces and nephews," Theseus told her stiffly.  "Possibly because I can spoil them rotten and not harbor any responsibility for them."

Rolling her eyes, Andromache couldn't help but smile.  "You should really start your own family, Theseus."

"Ah, but the mountains are my true love," Theseus answered dreamily.  "I love being up in the cold, crisp air…without any disturbances from the city.  I love Thebe, but the countryside is my true home.  I always go there when I can manage time away from the army.  I have hired a shepherd to look after my flocks while I am away, but when I finally resign from the army I plan to breed horses.  Like our grandfather used to do, Andromache."

"Hector has the horse that Grandfather gave Father," Andromache told him.  "Father gave it to Priam…to seal an agreement, one might say."

"Oh, that horse was a devil," Theseus said with a smile.  "Father would not have stood a chance.  But if what they say about Hector is true, then he would be able to tame him."

Andromache thought of that for a moment.  "I have actually never seen him with a horse," she admitted.  "His reputation is well-known, but I have seen no real proof."

"I'm sure we can find out somehow," Theseus assured her.  "You have the rest of your lives together.  You can just ask him to take you to the stables.  He would grant your request."

"Yes, he would," Andromache murmured. 

"I feel awful about what he did for me last night," muttered Theseus, looking down at his sandals glumly.  "He really did not have to."

"No, he didn't," Andromache said with a small smile.

"But that's why you like him, isn't it?" Theseus asked triumphantly, looking up.  "If you don't love him already, you will soon enough."

"Yes, but—" Andromache stopped suddenly, then whispered, "but he won't love _me_."

"Oh, darling, don't worry, he will come around," promised Theseus.  "You might even see him tonight."

"I doubt it," Andromache said.  "Although he did say he was staying in last night, and he was definitely in the city.  Maybe he will attend…I don't know."

"Why don't you ask him?" Theseus wondered. 

"No, I feel silly," Andromache murmured.  "Forget it."

"That little question will drive you mad," Theseus warned.  "Just ask him.  That way when he says that he is going, you will be prepared.  You can wear your finest jewelry and gown and fix your hair and do whatever else you females do."

"I do not think he's going," Andromache said firmly.  "…Although, there is the slight chance he might…"

"For Apollo's sake, if you won't ask him, then stop tormenting yourself," Theseus said.  "There has got to be something to take your mind off your worries.  Go draw something.  Weave a blanket.  Take a relaxing bath."

Sighing, Andromache knew her brother would hear no more of her uncertainties.  "I suppose I really should bathe after running that race.  It was too late last night, so I think I will take one.  I'm headed off for the servants quarters, because I'm sure Briseis is still in the woman's quarters bath."

Nodding despite the fact he had no idea where either were, Theseus decided that he would wander the grounds in the meantime.  As luck would have it, he glimpsed Hector through one of the hallway windows, carrying a horse blanket and bridle towards what Theseus assumed was the stable.

_This is perfect,_ Theseus thought, smiling.

****

"—And her mother was killed by the goddess Artemis," Paris finished.  "But I don't know why.  I don't think Andromache harbors any kind of grudge, but you might want to be careful."

Hector finished running his brush over length of his horse's flank.  The creature was gloriously black, earning the name Hades from Paris.  One of Hector's horses, the beast was known for being ill tempered.  Paris had sourly noted that the horse was a case in point in regards to Hector's appellation of "horse tamer."

"I really appreciate that you took the time to plan out an elaborate scheme," Hector began, "but I would have preferred finding all this out of my own."

"Zeus, you two are exactly alike!" wailed Paris.  "She said the same thing."

"Then she too realized the benefit of spending time together to learn about each other," Hector said, leaving Hades' stall.  "We both knew that the information would come forth." 

"But it would have taken you _ages_," Paris stressed, watching as his brother entered the next stall containing a brown horse.

"This is true," Hector conceded.  "But getting to know Andromache is something I look forward to as a _gradual_ process."

Sighing dramatically, Paris leaned back against the door of the closest stall.  "Brother, you will be the death of me."

"That's odd, because I could have sworn that those words are mine," Hector said genially.  "Although I must say, it impresses me to learn that your recent sneaking about had completely admirable intentions."

As if proving that he was full of helpfulness, Paris grabbed a comb to use on the horses mane.  He froze when the horse whinnied in protest as he approached.

"Your horse won't let anyone else near him," Paris complained, dropping the comb back on the pile of equipment Hector had retrieved from the stables.

"That's because he knows you're afraid of him," Hector told him.  "Horses are very good at sensing that kind of a thing.  He remembers when you tried to ride him six years ago, Paris.  You may have fooled him once, but he knows you don't have a clue as to what you are really doing."

Paris scoffed.  "You may be the tamer of horses, but being a charmer of women is a far better thing.  Women are more beautiful."

"Horses are easier to take care of," Hector countered.

"Not when they're like that one!" Paris said accusingly, pointing his finger at Hector's horse.

"Dusk is a _male_ horse," Hector said firmly.  "Male horses are more vain than female ones.  They constantly preen for female attention, but are still easier to handle than a human female." 

"Oh, but _handling_ the girls is the best part," Paris said impishly, yelping as the bridle Hector picked up whipped him on the arm.

"Of all the brothers in all the world…" Hector grumbled good-naturedly.

"You got the best one!" Paris finished cheerfully.  "And I'll tell you why.  Okay, the day you got back, I was snoop—er, searching—through Andromache's room when she went to the market place with Briseis.  Truth be told, that's why I was in the palace when you arrived and not accompanying the girls."

"Paris, you really ought to know better," sighed Hector, attempting to exercise patience.  His brother really didn't think sometimes.

"Well anyway, I found something interesting in her room," Paris continued, ignoring Hector's disapproval.  "It was hidden underneath a ridiculous amount of undergarments—which, Brother, I braved specially for you—and I nicked it so I could show you—"

"_Paris_!" Hector's tolerance had snapped.  "You _stole_ from her?"

"I gave it back," Paris sniffed.  "But I etched a copy of it with the papyrus I had taken from her room the previous night.  I just took a stick of that funny black stone she uses and came up with this."

Hector warily accepted the etching his brother produced from the lining of his robe.  Unfolding it, his brow furrowed.

"Did you get this etching from a knife or dagger?" Hector inquired.

"Yes, although it was not terribly sharp," Paris told him.

Rolling his eyes at the picture of his brother testing the sharpness of the blade, Hector squinted to make out the details.

"This must have been a very expensive knife," Hector muttered to himself, "for the designs to be picked up so clearly by the papyrus."

"It's a horse," Paris told him.  "Andromache must love them, because I found an old diary—"

"Paris, stop, I don't want to hear any more," Hector told him resolutely.

"But it must be from when she was nine or ten—" Paris explained.

"Paris, it is bad enough that you broke into her room," Hector cut him off.  "But what she wrote in that journal was private."

Sighing, Paris nodded weakly.  He took the papyrus from his brother's hands and neatly folded it into his pocket. 

"Look, the vendor that sponsored last night's footrace is hosting a horse race tonight on the beach," Paris mumbled, feeling ashamed that his brother had frowned so deeply upon his actions.  "Andromache told me that Theseus is quite an equestrian, so it will be interesting to watch and see if he is as good as she says."

Leaving the stables wordlessly, Paris left his brother with the horses.  Hector's hands closed around emptiness before dropping at his sides.  Gathering the tools and brushes he had just used at the stables, he turned to leave as well, nearly colliding with Theseus.

"Oh, sorry about that," Theseus apologized courteously.  "It seems that running into you is something that I have a recurring problem with."

"It's my fault, I should have watched where I was going," Hector told him, moving to step aside.

"Wait," Theseus said, the plea in his voice apparent.  "About what you did last night…it was a very decent thing of you to do.  I don't deserve your kindness, especially after what I did to you last night."  Theseus said no more, wisely sensing Hector's discomfort.

"It's fine," Hector said quickly, about to leave when an idea struck him.  "Theseus, my brother Paris told me that there will be a horse race tonight on the beach.   

Apparently the same booth operator wishes to host a similar event.  I heard that you are good with horses and was wondering if you would like to mount for the race.  I'm assuming that you came here by boat and would not have a horse.  You may have my horse, if you would like."

"Oh, that's remarkably thoughtful of you," Theseus said, eagerness shining in his dark eyes.  "But are you not going to participate as well?  I would not wish to deprive you of your prized horse.  I doubt I would even be able to control him.  I have heard his reputation is fearsome."

"I think Dusk would allow you to handle him," Hector replied.  "He's a reasonable horse; he will let anyone competent ride him.  He always jumps around Paris, yet he is very calm around you.  Perhaps he remembers you before he came into my possession?"

"Oh, that was ages ago," Theseus murmured, edging his fingertips beneath Dusk's nose.  The horse licked them and began to nibble lightly, causing the Theban to laugh.  "But I guess he really does remember.  Grandfather gave this horse to father as a foal, but I took care of him with my brothers for years.  I used to sneak out of my room at night to visit with the horses…well, Andromache and me.  We would ride them at night."

"Does she still ride now?" Hector asked. 

"She does not get the opportunity," Theseus muttered absently as he ran his hand along the horse's brown mane.  "Men usually escort women when they ride, but there were no other male relatives in the palace other than father.  Andromache usually does not care about those kind of rules, but ever since Mother was killed Father has been increasingly protective of my sister.  He asked her not to ride alone, and she obliged."

"Well, I would be willing to ride with her if she ever wishes it," Hector told Theseus. 

Theseus looked at him and gave him a dazzling smile.  "My sister would be very happy to hear that," he said after a moment.  His eyes fell back on Dusk.  "I would be honored to race on this mount."

"Then he is yours for the evening," Hector told him.  "I will have him set up for you on the beach before the competition begins."

Theseus gave him an unreadable look.  "You know, you really are a good man," he said finally.  "I'm glad my sister is marrying _you_ and not that younger one."

In spite of the insult to his brother's character, Hector laughed.  "I'm relieved to know you feel that way."

"Oh, don't mention it," Theseus said.  "But you really should consider participating tonight.  I know Andromache would love to see you race."

"I'm not in the best shape to do so," Hector pointed out, looking down at his arm.  Blood had begun to seep through the bandage once again, despite the fact that Hector had changed it less than an hour prior.

"Zeus, I'm all sorts of trouble," Theseus said mournfully.  "I panicked, you see.  You looked like Ares himself when you pushed me into that wall." 

"Where in Apollo's name did you learn to curse like that?" Hector asked, a fact that had been bugging him all morning.  "I've never heard such profanity in my life."

"Oh, some of the men in the army I met have a very unique way with words," Theseus answered.  "I took the liberty of selecting the most choicest phrases, of which I handed down to my sister."

"I do hope she learned respectable things from you as well," Hector said.

"Of course she did," Theseus said indignantly.  "I taught her how to swim, climb out of windows, put snakes—er, ignore that last one, and my brother's taught her how to fight."

"Why?" Hector asked.

"To protect herself," Theseus said simply.  "But fighting is not something I enjoy.  I am a decent soldier, I suppose, but when I caught sight of you around that corner.  I was right to be scared; you're the strongest warrior in Troy."

"That fact doesn't bring me any pleasure," Hector said joylessly.

Theseus nodded somberly and Hector could have sworn that something changed almost imperceptibly in his eyes.  "You are a man of peace, Hector.  You were built strong to uphold it.  I pray that you will always live in times of tranquility…it suits you better than any kind of shield or spear."

With that strange compliment, Theseus departed.  Before he was out of earshot, he looked over his shoulder at Hector.

"My sister is currently in the servant's quarters," Theseus said.  "She wants to talk to you about something.  She says it's very urgent."

Unsure how he was supposed to respond, Hector nodded.  "I shall see her, then, I suppose."

Giving him an oddly disconcerting smile, Theseus nodded back.  "You'd best find her right away."

Heading off at a jolly saunter, Hector was further troubled by Theseus's alarmingly cheerful mood.  The Theban whistled as he followed the path back to the palace, his tune remarkably on key.

_I guess to the servant quarters it is_, Hector thought bleakly, leaving the combs, brushes, and blankets behind in the stable.

****

Andromache sighed, sliding further down into the warm water, enjoying the sensation of tension being washed away.  Her muscles ached terribly from the race and her feet were in appalling condition.  Her bath was scented with a set of oils her oldest brother had given her, admittedly, as another birthday joke.  Andromache inhaled the thick fragrance deeply.  The fragrance was so heavy she decided against doing so again.  __

Peroneus never imagined I'd ever use these, but then again, Theseus never imagined I'd wear those earrings either…speaking of Theseus, I wonder where he went after I told him I was getting a bath…

Andromache had only been in the tub for a few minutes, but she knew Theseus could find himself in an embarrassing situation regardless of the amount of time she gave him.  She had begun to furiously wash her hair when she heard someone calling her name. 

"I'm in here!" Andromache called, figuring it was Theseus.  Her brother would not be embarrassed at finding her in a bathtub, for the number of times he had slipped something into the water was definitely higher than Andromache would have liked.

_One might think that a nineteen year old man would outgrow the practice of slipping frogs into his sister's bath water_, Andromache grumbled inwardly.  _But a frog was easier to deal with then the time he mixed wine into my soap…_

Andromache slid her body down into the tub as far as she could, just in time for the door to swing open.  Hector strode confidently into the room, and upon laying eyes on Andromache, hands poised in her soapy hair, turned briskly on his heel and walked right back out the door.

"Hector, wait!" Andromache called after him, knowing her embarrassment would only grow if he left her, wanted him to come back so she could try and save face.

Hector meekly made his way back into the room, pointedly looking at his feet.  A red blush had crept up his neck and spread over his cheeks, and Andromache could tell he was angry over getting embarrassed. 

"Isn't there some kind of lock on this door?" Hector asked sharply, searching exasperatedly for the presence of one.  He deliberately turned his back to her and began to look around for something he could cover his face with. 

"Yes, but you must have broken it when you barged in here," Andromache replied nonchalantly.  "What was your hurry?"

"Your brother told me there was something you needed to speak with me about," Hector muttered.  "Although I'm suspecting it was ruse to get me in this awkward situation."

"Most likely," Andromache agreed.  "You are going to be part of the family once you marry me.  That means you are completely at risk for all of the tricks that are played out."

"I had no idea," Hector admitted.  "I did not know you bathed in the servant's quarters.  Isn't there a section of the palace for you to bathe in…the one that Cassandra and my mother use?"

"Briseis was in there and she takes an _eternity_," stressed Andromache, washing the soap from her hair.  "Besides, I prefer the simplicity of the servants' quarters."

"Yes, but from here I can tell that the amount of bath additives in that tub could kill every horse in my stable," Hector said drolly.  "What do you have in there?"

"Um, a little bit of everything," Andromache answered.  "Part of a fancy set my oldest brother gave to me."

"I'm certainly no expert, but I don't believe you are supposed to put them all in at once," Hector told her disapprovingly. 

"I added them all because my muscles are so sore," admitted Andromache, who was rising from the tub and reaching for a towel.  Hector heard the water running off her body and hitting the tub, and stood stock-still. 

"And what was that supposed the accomplish?" Hector asked.

"The smell got my mind off the pain," shrugged Andromache, slipping into a simple blue dressing gown.  The garment was unseasonably warm and rather ugly, but it felt good against her skin.  She slid her feet into a pair of simple leather sandals.  She tapped Hector on the back, causing him to stiffen.

"I'm all done," she told him needlessly.  He spun around, exhaling sharply.

"Andromache, what has put you in such a mood?" Hector asked.  "I do not know why this situation is funny at all!"

"Well, I'm not the one who's flustered," Andromache said.  "But your face is warm from embarrassment.  Maybe this will help you cool off a bit."

Before Hector could stop her, Andromache's scooped up a handful of water and flung it at Hector.  He brought up his arm in time to shield his face, but his robes got a healthy blast of now-cold bathwater.

"Stop it!" Hector cried, laughing in spite of himself.  Running over to the tub, he returned her action by sending a splash in her direction.  Shrieking, Andromache tried to overcome him with water, but the waves he caused were too strong.  Abandoning her post at the tub, Andromache fled the room after seizing her toiletries.

"Don't start something you cannot finish!" Hector yelled after Andromache, nearly crashing into her.  In front of them both, Paris stood thunderstruck.  His dark, merry eyes taking in the sight of them soaking wet, the youth beamed at them.

"I leave you two alone and once again, you come out smelling like a woman, Hector," Paris said, shaking his head at his brother.  "Honestly, you will be married in two months…can you not at least wait until then?"

Looking Paris directly in the eye, Hector grinned.  "You are an idiot, brother.  Andromache merely splashed me in the face with her bathwater.  _After_ she was done bathing and had dressed."

Smiling, Paris wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.  "Would you care to grace me with some bathwater too?  Any water that touches your skin would be prized by Apollo himself."

Rolling her eyes, Andromache wisely ignored him. 

"Well, if you will not grant me that pleasure, then I guess I have no reason to stay here," Paris said with a shrug.  He sauntered off casually; Andromache suspected he was searching for someone to take to the festival later that night.

"That little rascal," muttered Hector.  "He is such a schemer.  But your brother is certainly a character as well.  I did not know that such a trickster could exist that could outwit my brother."

"Theseus is usually a very sensitive, sweet boy," Andromache said.  "He likes to play music on his lyre and raise animals more than anything…yet for some reason, he loves to create some very uncomfortable situations."

"Well, perhaps we can ask him about his latest scheme," Hector said, pointing to where Theseus was leisurely traipsing down the hall.  Freshly picked irises were hanging over the top of the bag on his shoulder, which was swinging back and forth through the air in time with his movements.

"Ah!" he said, clasping his hands together at the sight of his sister and Hector.  "It appears you two found each other.  Did you get to ask him that nagging question, Andromache, darling?"

Gritting her teeth at her brother's falsely cheery tone, Andromache crossed her arms.  "You know perfectly well that I had no pressing business, Theseus.  You sent him in there knowing that he would be embarrassed."

"Why, whatever are you referring to?" Theseus asked innocently.  "Just this morning you were telling me that the most important question in the world needed to be answered by him alone.  So I took the liberty of pointing him in the right direction.  It's pure chance that he caught you in the bath."

"How did you know he caught me in the bath, unless you sent him there, _hoping_ that's what would happen?" Andromache asked.

Not missing a beat, Theseus pointed at their garments.  "Obviously something happened in the bath," he insisted.  "You are both drenched.  Hector, you did not make her mad, did you?  She simply hates frogs slipped into her bath water." 

"Oh, go away, Theseus!" Andromache said, feeling embarrassment overtake her again.  She was painfully aware that her childhood had been very unusual for a girl, and though she knew Hector to be an understanding man, she always wondered if he would ever be shocked by some of the things she had done.

"Oh sister, you have wounded my heart with your coldness," Theseus declared, holding a hand to his chest.  "But I know when I am not wanted.  I shall leave so you can ask your question."

Theseus made a dramatic exit that Hector was sure could have given any Greek playwright a wealth of inspiration.  Watching the tall man slink down the hall, Andromache turned to Hector, not quite meeting his eyes.

"I was not going to ask you this, seeing as how you have more important matters to deal with, but I was wondering if you were going to the festival tonight," Andromache said quickly.  She looked up from her feet, her lips unconsciously parted in anticipation for his answer.

"I had not considered whether or not I was going," Hector told her.  "My arm is not healing as well as I had hoped, so I think I had best keep an eye on it carefully."

Andromache's shoulder's fell imperceptibly.  "Oh, alright.  I understand."  She nodded.  "It's best that you take good care of it."

Looking down again to hide her disappointment, she backed away slowly.  "Have a good afternoon," she said lamely before turning away.  She tried to leave with dignity, but as soon as she was out of his sight she ran to her room.

_You are a fool, Andromache_, she thought to herself bitterly as she sat on her bed.  The bottles she dropped clanked together on her covers. 

You are letting yourself start to fall in love with him.

****

Standing in the empty corridor, Hector felt as if someone had tightened a fist around his chest.  His shoulders slumped as unfamiliar emotions swept through him.

_I did not know she wanted me to go so much,_ he thought, his mind still replaying her exit.


	14. Fourteen

**14**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

"Andromache, I really messed things up, didn't I?" asked a mournful Theseus.  He sat on the bed next to his dejected sister, who looked as though she was about to succumb to tears.  Before they suffered a tragic fate, he took the glass bottles she had dropped on the bed and placed them on her dresser.

"Oh Theseus, everything is so wretchedly complicated," Andromache wailed.  "I was hardly ever like this before I left.  I never really felt the urge to cry when I was…home."

_Home_ had an odd ring to it, mostly because Theseus suspected she had become very comfortable in Troy.  In truth, after her brothers had left the palace Andromache was nearly alone, with the exception of a few servants and her father.  But her father had given her a lot of time to herself after her mother had died, not that Andromache minded.  Theseus knew his sister to be fairly introverted, more so than most girls her age.

"Andromache, I don't know what to do," Theseus said.  "Honestly I don't.  I'm not an expert on love, despite the fact that from the ages of fourteen to eighteen I chased after women as if I were possessed.  I'm nineteen now, and the only thing I've learned is that I've never found love just by looking for it.  It happens, very slowly, until you don't know what hit you.  Or at least that's what Mother said about Father, but she said _he_ was a special case, because he wooed her as if his soul depended on it.  Then again, a soul just might depend on love."

"Theseus, you are confusing," Andromache said, looking at him blankly. 

"Look, what I mean to say is this;" Theseus began, "love is something that everyone needs.  And even though Hector has abundant amounts of love from his family, once he recognizes your love he'll realize that it can fill the holes that all the other kinds of love leave behind.  Family supposedly has an obligation to love one another, and one might argue a wife must love her husband.  But the kind of love you have for him stretches beyond the filial bonds of loyalty."

"What do you mean?" Andromache asked.

"Honestly, was I the only one that Mother said any of this to?" Theseus asked.

"Well, you were her favorite," Andromache conceded.  "You are a much more sensitive person than me, and I just bet Mother wanted another daughter."

Theseus gave her a good-natured shove.  "Maybe if you hadn't been so busy climbing trees and swimming in the lake she might have told you all these things," Theseus said primly.  "You acted like a little boy; I'm sure you still do, in some ways.  But I have been honored with all of Mother's wisdom, and this is what she has to say on the matter."

"Oh, well, if _she_ says so, I guess I'd best listen," Andromache smirked, but Theseus knew she would take everything seriously.

"You love your family in a different way than you do your husband, because there are more layers to romantic love," Theseus said.  "Loyalty, protectiveness, and affection are all present amongst family.  But with a husband, there can be stirring amounts of possessiveness, lust, and even hate."

"Hate?" Andromache asked.

"Yes," Theseus said.  "Hate is a strong emotion, and though it might be considered the opposite of love, it is one of the strongest feelings a person has.  Romantic love is not always happiness, Andromache.  Love can cause you to end your own life.  Love can tear friends, family, and even countries apart.  Love can bring out the absolute worst in people."

"Then why would anyone want to love someone else romantically?" Andromache asked him helplessly.

"Because even though love is fear, anxiety, jealousy, confusion, frustration, and confusion, it is strong enough to tie up every other emotion in its path," Theseus said simply.  "Love is complete and utter chaos.  It means a thousand different things to a thousand different people, but when you love someone you invest yourself emotionally in their feelings and that never changes."

Sighing, Andromache got up from the bed and crossed over to her bureau.  "It does not sound like a good experience, love."

Theseus smiled.  "Love is fraught with danger, Andromache, darling, but when have you ever turned down a challenge?"

Glaring at her brother accusingly, she crossed her arms.  "Theseus, that terrible competitive streak you've encouraged in me drove me to race last night.  My sore muscles are convincing my mind that you are a bad influence."

"Will you at least listen to what I said?" Theseus pleaded. 

"Yes, but I don't see how I'm supposed to feel any better," Andromache muttered.

"But that's the point," Theseus said brightly, hopping up from the bed.  "You're simply supposed to resign yourself to your fate and simply allow yourself fall in love gradually.  Then you face the challenge of getting that emotionally stunted oaf to recognize his feelings for you.  But I know you can do it because I've made sure from your birth that you would be a fighter."

  "Oh, get out!" Andromache said playfully, shoving him towards the door.  "You aren't helping me at all!"

"My heart is pained to learn you do not value my counsel," Theseus wailed, allowing himself to be pushed across the threshold.  "I do hope that you are more receptive tonight."

Andromache poked her head out of the door to watch him stroll down the hall.  She called after him.

"I thought you said you weren't an expert on love, Theseus!  Mother couldn't have told you all of that!"

"How would you know?" Theseus asked over his shoulder, not breaking his stride.  He looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun.  "Until tonight, dear sister!"

Andromache felt her grip on the doorframe tighten when he picked up speed and rounded the corner.

"Of all the brothers in all the world," she sighed, going back into her room and shutting the door.

****

Braiding her hair into a simple queue, Andromache did not care that she looked plain.  She decided to wear an older gown of hers; the sage colored material had begun to fade with time.  Deciding the night would definitely be nostalgic, she slipped on a simple gold ring her mother had left her when she died.

_I don't care if I look like a peasant's wife,_ Andromache thought firmly as she examined her reflection.  _At least I feel like myself._

Andromache left her room smiling, wondering where her brother could have gotten off to. 

"Andromache?" Theseus's voice called from around the corner.  As she stepped into the next hall her mouth fell open.

"Theseus?" Andromache stared at her brother, disbelief written all over her face.  He stood in complete Theban armor, his cape swinging gently and his horsehair helmet plume running in a graceful line down the indigo fabric.  He even wore his sword at his side.

"Andromache, what on earth are you wearing?" he asked, eyeing her critically.

"Should I not be asking that of you?" she countered. 

"The big horse race is tonight," Theseus said matter-of-factly.  "You don't want to go looking like that."

Sighing, Andromache's eyes pleaded with his.  "Please don't ask me to change.  I like what I'm wearing now."

"This is a very formal event, so I'm told," Theseus said.  He pointed across the hall to where Hector's commander stood, similarly dressed in full armor.  "That fellow's name is Lysander.  He said that they always have a race on the second day of this festival because Apollo was the second twin and Artemis, the first.  Traditionally it has taken place within the city walls, but this year it is happening on the beach."

"Where are you getting a horse?" Andromache asked. 

"Hector lent me his favorite," Theseus murmured, obviously thinking back to that morning.  "He's got an amazing stable full of incredible horses, Andromache.  You should simply see them all."

An unreadable look settled across Andromache's features.  "So I guess if you have Hector's favorite horse, he will not be participating?"

"Er, I guess not," Theseus mumbled awkwardly.  "I think his arm is bothering him.  I'm really sorry, Andromache."

Andromache shook her head.  "It's your fault, but I don't blame you."

"Huh?" Theseus asked.

"You are responsible for it, but I don't harbor negative feelings towards you for doing it," Andromache clarified.  "It's not like you set out that night to stab my future husband.  People don't mean for a lot of things to happen; sometimes they can't be helped.  At any rate, it is too late."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Andromache," Theseus muttered.  "Look, I know Hector won't be there tonight, but go make yourself look lovely.  That way when I win, the most beautiful woman there will help me celebrate."

"Theseus, I am **_NOT_** buying you drinks," Andromache said firmly.  "I refuse."

"But why?" Theseus asked.  "I like them.  And how did you know that is what I was referring to when I mentioned a celebration?"

"You always celebrate with wine, Theseus," Andromache reminded him.  "Additionally, what makes you so certain you are going to win?"

"I just know," Theseus said firmly, crossing his arms.  For being so thin, Andromache had to admit that he looked fairly formidable with his armor on.  But she knew better than to back down from her brother.  "Even you have to admit that I possess impressive skills when it comes to horses."

"You do know that wine turns you into an even bigger idiot," Andromache said, turning towards her room.  "I will change my clothes so it doesn't look like you keep company with peasants—shush, Theseus, I was joking, I know you hold no grudge against them—but don't ask me for drinks."

"But Andromache!" he cried after her.  "Why do you think wine is so bad?  It tastes wonderful!  It's not as if I'm a drunkard!  I've only become inebriated three times in my whole life!"

"Do you remember what happened the last time you were drunk?" Andromache asked.

"…No…" Theseus trailed off.

"Exactly!" Andromache said triumphantly, disappearing into her room.

****

Paris was sulking in the garden, uncharacteristically gloomy.  Cassandra, in one of her rare departures from the woman's chambers, found him by the fountain.  She crossed the distance noiselessly, her sandals barely pressing down upon the grass.

"Paris?" she asked softly, her gentle voice soothing.  Recognizing it, Paris stopped himself just in time from snapping back at her.  "Are you alright?"

Paris glared at her stormily, not saying a word.  Her face was so young and sweet.  At fourteen, Paris thought her too young to have warranted the affections of the god Apollo, but she really was a lovely girl.  Unfortunately, spurning the god had adverse negative affects, of which Cassandra was still embittered.

"You're angry about that Theban," Cassandra told him, smiling slyly at him.  "You think he's causing trouble."

"Well, he _is_," Paris insisted.  "He doesn't have a good reason for being here."

"And how would you know?" Cassandra asked.  "I'll bet you have not asked."

"Do _you_ know?" Paris challenged.

"Yes, but," Cassandra's eyes held a mixture of anger, sadness, and frustration, "you would not believe me if I told you."

Sighing, Paris stood from the edge of the fountain, circling it as he thought about the situation.  His sister seated herself on the marble ledge, watching his movements carefully.

"He is tampering with Andromache's and Hector's relationship," Paris said.

"But you do to," Cassandra pointed out.  "You like to gather information and pass it between them.  He just likes embarrassing them in front of the other, which he does so they get over the awkwardness between them.  He hates the idea of them tiptoeing around each other.  Theseus is a good deal wiser than you would give him credit for and loves his sister dearly."

"Yes, but why is he here?" Paris demanded.  "Is it just because he misses her?"

"I cannot say," Cassandra said, her eyes fixed on the water of the fountain.  "But you will know on the summer solstice.  I do not celebrate Apollo, but do not think I am ignorant of what happens at the festival.  On its seventh day you will find yourself in a difficult position, Paris.  I cannot say what choice you will make."

With that, Cassandra got up smoothly from the fountain and left him.  Without so much as a farewell or a wave, Paris watched the end of her gray gown disappear inside the palace. 

****

"Now, do you not believe you look nicer?" Theseus teased when Andromache emerged from her room.  "I really was not terribly serious when I told you to change, but I must say it was a good idea.  Where on earth did you find that material?  I've never seen you wear such pastel colors before you came here, Andromache.  You're letting this place change you!"

Smirking at Theseus's mock accusation, she brushed her fingers lightly over the fabric.  It was a very light blue; Theseus was right, it was uncharacteristically chilly color for her.  Usually preferring bright colors or earth tones, Andromache thought they fit her personality better.

"Now, we have to rush to the beach, or we will be late," Theseus admonished sternly, grabbing her wrist and dragging her out of the room.  "Um, where is the palace exit again?"

"You were wandering the palace all day!" Andromache said.  "You don't remember where it is?"

"Er…not off hand, no," Theseus said meekly.  "I was exploring the _inside_ of the palace, not the outside.  And last night when I came in it was wretchedly dark; I don't recall what anything looked like then.  Besides, I've been using out side doors to go outside, but they lead to the garden, the stables, and one strange passageway that I had no idea where it lead to but I followed it anyway.  Why on earth would a palace need such a thing?"

Shaking her head, Andromache grabbed _his_ wrist and guided him towards the exit.  "I hope you realize that I should be introducing you to Priam right now, not escorting you to some silly horse race," Andromache grumbled.

"Yes, but what shall you tell him when you don't even know yourself why I'm here?" Theseus asked impishly.  "Ow, that hurt!  I'm sorry, I know I've complicated your life, I'm sorry.  But proper introductions can be made in less than a week, I promise."

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Andromache was thankful when they finally descended the front steps of the palace.

****

"Something isn't right about him being here, that is all I'm saying," Paris told Briseis firmly.  He was trying not to focus too hard on her lime green gown; the color was painfully bright.  She was, however, very lovely, and garnered quite a few appreciative stares as they meandered through the festival grounds.

"Theseus does not seem so bad, though," Briseis said, pausing to look at a display of hairpins.  On a whim, she picked one out and bought it, and as she paid, she looked carefully at her cousin's unusual apprehension.  "Are you suspicious of Theseus's intents?"

"No, it's just…he's not only here to visit his sister," Paris said.  "I don't think he has bad intentions, nor do I think he wishes to split up my brother's impending marriage, but he is also keeping secrets from us all."

Briseis nodded.  "He's nice enough, from what I've seen of him during this day," she commented.  "I think he'll cheer Andromache up, whatever he does."

"I wish Hector was participating in the race," Paris muttered angrily.  "But when I left, he was in the stables again.  I swear that simply must be how he earned the nickname 'Tamer of Horses.'  Honestly, when he isn't out with the military he's riding horses.  I asked him if he was going to race with Dusk, and he said he'd given him to Theseus to ride!  The last thing I want to do is to see that Theban win the race.  Lysander is a very talented horseman; he shall win instead."

"Well, _I_ hope Theseus wins," Briseis said contrarily.  "I like him more than Lysander."

"How can you say that, Briseis?" Paris asked her critically.  "Lysander has been with the army ever since Hector joined, even a decade before.  He is a loyal Trojan soldier."

"And since when did you have such a high opinion of soldiers, aside from your brother?" Briseis asked coolly.  "But I suppose since Hector isn't racing than I guess you are automatically hoping that Lysander will win, just because Theseus and you like to talk down to each other."

"Oh be quiet," Paris grumbled, surreptitiously steering his cousin away from another kiosk full of jewelry.  "When did you get so uppity?  You don't know everything."

"I'm just pointing out that perhaps Theseus teases you because he knows you'll rise to the bait," Briseis said logically.  "He does the same thing with Andromache."

"Yes, but I have more sense than she does," Paris said seriously.

Passing through the city's gates, Briseis threw her head back and laughed.

****

"I feel like the only Theban here," Theseus whispered to Andromache, who was helping him adjust the saddle Hector had lent him. 

"Theseus, you _are_ the only Theban here," Andromache reminded him. 

"Maybe that's why I feel so jumpy," Theseus muttered, eyes darting around nervously.  "I don't think any of these people would be happy to see me win, if I do."

"Ah, so we don't know for certain," Andromache said wryly.  "Weren't you fairly confident earlier that a horse race would be easily won by your skill?"

"Don't remind me," Theseus said grimly, sliding his helmet on.  He turned his head to her, dark eyes peering out from the fearsome chasm.

"What is it?" Andromache asked.

"Him," Theseus said, bravely pointing to where Lysander was mounting his horse.  For a large man, he was very swift, and Andromache could tell he was no amateur. 

"What about him?" Andromache wondered.

"He is my greatest foe tonight," Theseus said matter-of-factly.  "On our way to the beach I heard whispers of his skill.  Even yesterday evening he was discussed amongst the citizens.  Even Hector acknowledges his skill, so they say.  But I still think I will defeat him.  Though he is not a beginner by any means, I promise I will beat him.  I am better"

Andromache nodded soberly.  Her brother was not being arrogant, she knew.  Theseus would beat him.  "Good luck, Theseus." 

Theseus returned the nod.  "Thank you, Sister," he said softly, nudging the brown horse to the starting line. 

Though Theseus had not ridden the horse in many years, the familiar sensation of sitting atop a saddle and gripping the reigns aided in easing his discomfort.  Dusk had succumbed to Theseus's confident yet gentle aura, one that had won over countless animals before him.  Trusting his rider implicitly, Dusk patiently awaited his new master's command.

Andromache twisted her hands, unwilling to vocalize how apprehensive she was.  When she was ten, her third oldest brother had a terrible accident while on horseback.  While jumping over a hedge, the horse's back legs had caught, sending both horse and rider tumbling to the other side.  The young man landed beneath the horse, whose left front hoof nearly slit his throat.

_But Theseus is far more skilled with horses than Aulis_, Andromache reminded herself.  _Theseus would never force his mount past its limits.  Theseus would never get hurt trying to do anything stupid if he were risking the life of an animal.  Theseus would never allow himself to be defeated by any Trojan whose skill did not surpass his own._

Heading to the tower above the gate, she climbed the steps numbly.  After reaching the top, she paused, slender hands resting on the stone.  She peered over the edge anxiously.  As she scanned the line of participants, she attempted to gauge their skill.  All men wore their army helmets, and their gold surfaces shone in the setting sun.  Elegant horsehair plumes fell down their backs, picked up by a gently blowing ocean breeze.

Looking hard for the telltale sign of her brother's cloak, she sought to distinguish him from the other riders.  Nearly all the horses were brown like Dusk, with the exception of one black one on the end.  But as Andromache's eyes wandered down the row, she could easily tell who was a competent equestrian.

_There are only a handful of men here who are worthy to participate in such an important race_, Andromache realized.  _There's Lysander, Theseus, and a few Trojans._

The crowd ceased to speak when they saw who remained motionless above them on the city walls.  Andromache was surprised, for she had not sensed his presence.  King Priam himself stood there; his quiet splendor overcoming the glorious image of dozens of Trojan soldiers poised for the beginning of the race.  The king held up an arm, indicating he was about to speak.

"Today is the second night of the Festival of Apollo, as you all know," he stated simply, his loud voice belying his calm wisdom.  "But tonight we celebrate this tradition on the beaches of our fine city, in sight of Apollo's temple.  The race will end as the sun disappears behind the horizon; indeed, a glorious sight the sun god will have before he rests.  To those brave men racing in this competition tonight, you respect Apollo by your participation alone.  However, the greatest honor you can give to him is your victory.  May it come to the man Apollo favors most!"

Loud, moving cheers rang from both the citizens who were watching the race and those participating in it.  Andromache grasped that some of these men knew they would not win, but would risk their lives just to honor their god.  The realization felt like a hand twisting her heart in its grasp.

Theseus would win just for Apollo, Andromache knew.  _The god of music, Apollo has blessed my brother with many talents.  Theseus being a talented musician, I do think Apollo would see him win tonight._

The sound of the battle horn led to an eruption of hoof beats from the starting line.  A large cloud of dust lifted from the ground, masking the evolution of the race momentarily.  When it cleared, Andromache was horrified to see several fallen men in its wake. 

"Theseus?" Andromache gasped allowed, desperately scanning the men and praying she would not find her brother.  Relieved when she discovered he was not among them, her eyes strained to follow the riders' progress.

"What is the matter, my dear?" Priam asked her gently, startling the worried girl.

"My brother, Theseus, he's in the lead!" Andromache told him excitedly.  Not caring what he thought, Andromache ducked inside the palace, quickly searching for the correct path to adjacent tower.  Andromache planned to follow her brother's progress around the city by traveling its perimeter, running along the walls.

"What kind of a race is this?" Andromache demanded breathlessly of a guard after witnessing her brother duck from beneath a sword swing.

"The point is to win, Princess Andromache," the guard said unsympathetically.  "Weapons are allowed in the race.  The horses are not harmed, but the men who ride them are at risk.  While killing the opponent is frowned upon, many men have come back unable to serve in the army."

"Is that not a waste?" Andromache questioned.

"The rules are known by those who willingly enter," the guard said calmly.  "And no one is forced to compete.  It is a race for personal glory as well as an opportunity to personally bring honor to the gods."

_So that is why he brought his sword_, Andromache thought bleakly.  _Theseus did not tell me the risk was so high…did he think I would try and stop him?_

Andromache rushed past the guard, trying to see which men were the top three riders.  Theseus was barely in first, having an awful time of defending himself and managing his horse.  Dusk had not succumbed to total terror yet, but Andromache could tell he was starting to lose trust in Theseus.

The thunder of hooves beating the ground drowned out Andromache's cry as she watched the sword fly from her brother's fingertips.  Lying useless beneath the feet of dozens of successive horses, the sword trampled.  Andromache's blood ran cold when she realized the identity of Theseus' attacker.

_Lysander,_ she thought dejectedly.  The man's considerable bulk was the power beneath his relentless attacks, which explained why Theseus could not sustain the blows.  Reaching for his shield, Andromache wondered how her brother could still manage to keep the horse at his fast pace.

_Apollo, this man won't give up,_ Theseus thought frantically as he felt the metal of his shield clang with each successive blow.  Aware that another rider was gaining on him, Theseus pushed his horse harder, trying to achieve some distance between himself and Lysander. 

When Lysander landed his next hit, Theseus gave his shield a sharp twist.  The sword was wrenched from the larger man's grip, falling into Theseus's.  To Lysander's surprise, Theseus tucked the stolen sword into the scabbard at his left hip.

Saving this for later, Theseus thought, flashing Lysander a wry grin.  Releasing an angry roar, Lysander pulled his horse alongside Theseus's, hoping to push him off.  The younger man nearly plummeted from his horse at the force of the blow, only his grip on the reigns preventing him from doing so.

As Theseus attempted to straighten himself on the saddle, he let forth a long string of curses that had Lysander gaping in shock. 

"You blasphemer!" Lysander cried, his fist colliding with Theseus's head.  The jarring impact of that metal-covered knuckles slamming into the helmet sent Theseus's senses reeling.  Barely able to gather his wits to duck the next blow, Theseus groped for his newly acquired sword.  He pulled it from his scabbard and swung, the singularly smooth motion demonstrating Theseus's latent strength.

Lysander grunted as the handle, not the blade, crashed into his ribs.  Theseus had merely jammed the sword back, not intending to slice open his victim.  The metal square that tipped the blade's handle had definitely broken some ribs.  Lysander gripped his bruised midsection, the momentary slip of his hands on the reigns enough to cause the horse to slow.  

_Oh damn, one more left,_ Theses thought weakly.  Almost halfway around the city, the Theban was beginning to tire. 

_It's a _big_ city_, he thought, trying to comfort himself in face of his fatigue.  _And you've never entered into such a violence race before.  When you talked to Lysander before this whole thing began, he certainly made the whole thing sound a lot easier…_

Andromache watched as her brother pushed Dusk to catch up with the Trojan on the black horse. The man had gotten ahead of Theseus during the scuffle with Lysander but had taken some blows himself.  Andromache noted that the man's cape was cut to pieces and that many falling blades had dented his shield by the way the setting sun reflected from its battered surface.

_Please, Theseus, you're halfway done, please win_, Andromache wished fervently. 

Andromache ignored the aching of the muscles she had tortured yesterday as she ran along the city perimeter, trying to keep up with the action below.  Falling behind, she took a path that led over the ceilings of several buildings.  She was literally cutting across the city, knowing she would miss over one third of the race but wanting to be able to see the very end of it. 

Waiting the appearance of the horse riders, Andromache caught her breath.  She glanced to her right, where Priam could be seen in the distance.  The gate of the city was below her, also to her right, but she would be able to see the winner as he entered the city.

The sound of hooves hitting the beach alerted her to the nearing presence of the competitors.  Theseus had retaken his lead, but the man on the black horse was only a hairsbreadth behind.  Gaining on the pair was Lysander, whose will to win had apparently overpowered his considerable pain.  The rest of the racers were closing as well, only a few paces behind Lysander.

"Theseus, win!" Andromache cried. 

Theseus was glad his new opponent was not attacking him, for the simple fact that he could concentrate on what he loved: riding horses.  Theseus shot fleeting look to his left, noting that a blow that glanced off the man's shield must have nicked his horse, for a shiny rivulet of blood was nearly running into its eye.  Irritation flashed at the unfairness; a horse could not fight back against another man's sword.

Returning his attention back to the race, Theseus leaned forward, his grip on the reigns firm and steady.  Ignoring the sensation of sweat clinging to his hair, his neck, and face, Theseus concentrated on winning.  Theseus could feel his legs move at every huge, gasping breath the horse took.

The gate loomed before the two racers, a welcoming sign for both men.  A large multitude had gathered on the beach as well as inside the city, waiting to celebrate the winner.  Theseus glimpsed the pale fabric of his sister's gown high atop the city wall.

Cursing, Theseus prayed the race would not end in a tie like his sister's had the night before. 

_But I don't want to lose,_ was Theseus's last thought as he crossed the finish line.

****

Slowing his horse to an easy canter, Theseus threw his head back once he had entered the gate.  The other man had won; he knew it.  The winner's black horse trotted in front of him, Theseus could have sworn the horse was pleased.  Following the path up to the palace, Theseus dismounted at the steps.  He shook his head to rid his horsehair plume of all the wretched confetti that had fallen in it from the jubilant crowd.

Theseus turned his head midway up the steps to look for Andromache, who had disappeared from the high walls and was presumably in the crowd.  Not spying her, Theseus looked up the steps, where King Priam and the victor were patiently awaiting his arrival.  Lysander was there too, and Theseus finally reached the top step, between the Trojan army commander and the winner. 

"Your highness," Theseus addressed him, kneeling respectfully.  Theseus had heard his father speak many kind praises about this king.  The blue eyes of Priam met his dark ones, and the old king knew this was Andromache's brother.

"You must be Theseus," Priam said, causing the young man's head to snap up.  Theseus removed his helmet, cradling it in the crook of his left arm.

"Yes, King Priam," Theseus affirmed, lowering his head once more.  He was surprised when the weight of laurel leaves descended upon his hair.  Tentatively, he reached up to finger the leaves.

"Congratulations, Theseus of Thebe," Priam said, his voice serious.  "You have honored Apollo greatly with your participation.  Not many outsiders are willing to risk their lives like you."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Theseus said, not quite understanding why this king unnerved him so.  His eyes were like pools of water that threatened whomever looked into them with drowning.  They were eyes that had seen a lot of hardship as well as happiness.

Priam nodded grandly, then turned his attention to the first place winner.  As Theseus's eyes fell upon a flash of white on the man's left arm, he knew who it was before the man removed his helmet.

_Hector._


	15. Fifteen

**15**

**…**

MaryScot 

**…**

Hector tried not to laugh at the look of comic shock on the face of Theseus as he knelt on the stairs.  Instead, he averted his gaze and accepted the crown of laurel leaves.  Head bent, his shaggy hair hid the smile that was threatening to form.

"Hector, you have made me proud," Priam said solemnly, though a twinkle could be seen in his eye.

"Thank you, Father," Hector replied softly.  As he stood and turned around, he faced the sky where the sun had just disappeared.  His face reflected torchlight, as did the millions of confetti pieces still fluttering to the ground.  Loud, deafening cheers filled the air, the thunderous applause a wondrous spectacle.

"I know it is tradition to ride through the city, but I have many things that need my attention this evening," Hector said humbly, his tone containing the tiniest plea that his father detected instantly.

Priam nodded, turning to face Theseus.  "Young Theban, would you like the honor in his stead?"

Unbidden, Theseus felt his face mouth widen in a grin.  "I'll do it," he said, attempting to be serious but failing miserably.  He stood and bowed, a gesture of respect he meant from the bottom of his heart.  As he turned around to descend the steps, he glimpsed his sister.

"Theseus!" Andromache cried, hugging him fiercely.  "Congratulations!"  She released him.  Stepping back suddenly, she started smacking him on the arms.

"Ow!  Why are you hitting me?  I won second place!" Theseus mumbled feebly, cowering from her blows.

"You almost _died_!" Andromache shrieked.  "Lysander is twice as strong as you!  He could have _killed_ you!  He _wanted_ to!"

"Well, he is going to have to wait for another chance," Theseus told her firmly.  "Because he didn't do it this time."

Sighing in disgust at her brother's nonchalance, Andromache stood beside his horse as he mounted it.

"A victory lap?" Andromache asked knowingly.

"Yes, and afterwards I was going to look for my sword," Theseus said, a look of thoughtfulness appearing.  "What's left of it, anyway?  It's probably ruined, I'd wager.  I guess you shouldn't wait around for me."

"Oh," Andromache said softly.  She sucked in a breath, obviously trying to think of what she would do without him.

"Look, I know you're disappointed about not spending the night with me, but why don't you go and find Hector?" Theseus suggested.  "He is the true winner tonight.  Besides, you don't have to worry about keeping him out of trouble.  His behavior is impeccable."

Smiling, Andromache nodded at him.  "Since you did so well this evening, maybe—"

"—Someone else will buy me drinks!" Theseus finished joyfully.  With a jaunty grin, he eased his horse into an easy trot.  He turned and waved to her before basking in the glory of the receptive crowd.  He was quickly out of sight, overcome by multitudes of rejoicing Trojans.

Rolling her eyes, Andromache was almost glad her brother was not going to spend the evening with her.  Giddy with his achievement, he would surely get into more trouble than usual.  Turning around towards the palace, Andromache bumped into Briseis.  Paris stood close by.

"Oh, hello Briseis," Andromache said breathlessly.  "How did you like the race?"

"Paris and I watched from the beach," Briseis said.  "Your brother is very skilled.  We saw him and Hector cross the finish line.  It was very close!"

"But Hector won," Paris pointed out triumphantly, straightening up at glare he earned from both girls. 

Ignoring her cousin, Briseis looked at Andromache.  "Where is Theseus?" she asked curiously.  "I saw you on the towers following his progress…are you not going to join him in celebration?"

"Er…Theseus's idea of celebration enjoys endless carafes of wine and a great deal of dancing," Andromache murmured, looking slightly perplexed.  "And I am sad to report that neither of them mixes terribly well with the other."

"Then should you not look after him to make sure he is okay?" asked Briseis, concerned.

Detecting her distress, and none too happy about it, Paris crossed his arms.  "I'm sure he will be alright, Briseis.  Theseus is an adult, no matter how he acts.  He can take care of himself without our help."

"But someone might try to take advantage of him!" Briseis said worriedly.  "I'm going to go find him.  Someone might take his money or worse!"

Briseis ran off into the crowd to where she presumed Theseus went.  Sighing, Paris's shoulders slumped before he turned to chase after his cousin.

"Briseis, come back!" he pleaded uselessly, his larger mass making it more difficult to part the crowd of people.

Alone now, Andromache looked back at the palace where Priam stood proudly at the top of the steps.

_There is one thing I must accomplish tonight, _Andromache thought as she ascended the stairs.

****

Hector's first order of business was getting his horse some water, which the animal greedily drank.  Hector, not wishing the beast to become ill, would not let him drink it all at once. 

"Hades, you will get sick if you don't slow down," Hector admonished, pulling on the reigns warningly.  The horse glared at him, tossing his mane in irritation.

"Don't get cheeky with me!" Hector cautioned, a smile tugging on his mouth.  Laughing when the horse stamped its front hooves at him, Hector began a careful survey of his horse's body.

Sucking in a breath at the huge gash on the strap of the saddle, he was thanking Apollo that the leather received the blow, not the animal's flesh.  He removed the heavy contraption, revealing the dark flank of the animal.  The only injury requiring attention was on the horse's head.  Hector removed the bit and bridle, tenderly patting the end of the horse's velvety nose.  He braced himself when he touched the end of the cloth to the bleeding wound.      

"Shh, it will only hurt for a moment," Hector soothed, running his hand up and down the horse's mane.  The black hair was smoothed down beneath the gentle motion and Hades stilled.

When he had cleaned the wound and dressed it, Hector picked up a brush and slid it across the horse's back.  He was so involved in grooming that he almost did not hear someone enter the stable.

"Andromache," Hector said, turning to face her slowly.

"How did you know who it was before you saw me?" Andromache asked.

"The only people that come in this section of the stable are Paris and Lysander," Hector told her.  "And Apollo save me if I ever mistake your soft footfalls for the latter.  Paris always runs in here to tell me things, and you were walking."

"What kind of things does Paris tell you?" Andromache asked curiously, smiling.

"All kinds," Hector admitted.  "Most of them about women."

"Somehow that does not strike me as out of character for him," Andromache said wryly.  Hector watched as she carefully approached the stable where he stood, utilizing the proper caution that Paris disregarded.  When Hades tensed, she stopped, but momentarily.  She resumed her movements towards his pen when the horse quieted, always stopping when she detected his uneasiness.  Sensing that the animal would not allow her any closer, she settled a comfortable distance away.

"Theseus told me you gave him your favorite horse," Andromache said with a smirk.

"Dusk _is_ my favorite horse," Hector returned.  "But not the fastest.  Hades has far more speed, although a much trickier personality."

Laughing at this revelation, Andromache had to admire Hector's cunning.  "That is a very tricky thing you did, Hector."

"Theseus was fond of Dusk," Hector told her.  "They used to know each other well.  Besides, Theseus in time would have been able to handle Hades, but not in one night.  I was looking out for both of them.  I don't think weapons should be allowed in a horse race.  The animals can get injured, even die."

"I agree," Andromache said softly.  "Is your horse alright?"

"Oh, he will live, but I will definitely hear it from him over the next few days," Hector said, patting the horse on the top of the head.  "Hades is very much like a person.  A very arrogant, childish person."

"How did you acquire him?" Andromache asked.

"My mother is responsible for that, actually," Hector admitted.  "One of her cousin's friends was complaining that her husband could not control a horse purchased in Athens, I believe.  Mother told the woman I could tame the horse, but he has not warmed to anyone but me, and even our relationship can be a tense one.  I don't think the previous owners are ever going to want him back."

"That's a shame," Andromache said, admiring the horse.  "He's beautiful."

"It's not a shame for me," Hector said with a grin.

Laughing, Andromache crossed her arms.  "Would you be purposely training the horse to disobey everyone else's command but your own?" she challenged playfully.

"Of course not," Hector said indignantly, a crooked smile on his lips.  Andromache was pleased to see how young it made him look; the tiniest glimpse of his brother's mischievous nature could be detected.  "The beast doesn't want to listen to _me_ half the time, I wouldn't ever encourage his contrary behavior; it would backfire.  Besides, he deserves more than such manipulation."

Andromache gave him a look he could not read before nodding.  "…Not many would agree with you," she said after carefully choosing her words.  "Most would say that a horse is meant to bend to man's will.  That a horse must be broken."

"But I know _you_ do not feel that way," Hector said matter-of-factly, catching her look of surprise.  "A person might have two horses, one spiritless and the other lively.  Chances are the relationship between the person and the spirited horse are more intense, but that can be either good or bad.  And while each horse is different, the potential for trust depends on how much man and beast are willing to give of themselves."

Andromache said nothing, and Hector mistook her silence for confusion.

"I know I sound like a madman," Hector said awkwardly, once again seeking the elegant words that eluded him.  "Take Hades for example.  He loves to race and is perhaps more vain than any person I know.  We both risked our lives to race, and he knows that while I receive the credit of winning the race, it was only due to his speed that we won."

Andromache smiled, a sight that Hector knew he would never grow tired of.  "I now know why you are called the horse tamer," she said quietly.  "It goes beyond skill with horses…it is your whole mindset towards them.  Only someone who sees their complexities could develop their skills and earn their trust."

Before she lost her nerve, Andromache walked over towards Hector, ignoring the protests of Hades.  Her right palm skimmed his left cheek and her left palm went to the back of his head before she lightly pressed her lips against his cheek.  

"Congratulations, Hector," she said, slowly leaning back, looking into his dark eyes.  She held her breath, hoping not to fall under their spell.  Breaking the gaze, she dropped her arms and stepped away, slightly amused at the faint look of shock that remained on his face.  She turned to leave, not registering that Hades had ceased his whinnying.

"Wait," Hector called after her, successfully managing to get his mouth working again.  "Why don't you go back to the palace with me?  We can eat dinner in the garden."

Andromache was speechless, and Hector mistook her silence for rejection.

 "You don't have to if you don't want to, I mean, I understand if you don't want to and all.  You want to go back to the festival, that's fine, I see.  I just thought that maybe since it was—beg your pardon?" Hector asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Andromache repeated, smiling at him. 

Hector knew he was smiling back at her like an idiot, but he really could not bring himself to care.  "Let's go to the kitchen and find something to eat, shall we?"

****

"He had better not let anything happen to my brother's horse," Paris whispered menacingly, having successfully caught up to Briseis several minutes earlier but unable to convince her to abandon her quest.

"There's Dusk!" Briseis confirmed, rounding a building and encountering the unruffled horse in an alley, which was tied to a post outside a tavern.  Several other horses were tied next to him, presumably animals that had participated in the earlier race.  The crown of laurel leaves had been hung around Dusk's neck, and upon sensing Paris, he whinnied in warning.  Briseis was permitted to approach, which she did carefully.

"It's alright, boy," Briseis soothed, calming him enough to allow Paris's approach.

"Where is Theseus?" Paris wondered, looking around and not finding the Theban. 

"Perhaps he's inside," Briseis murmured, pointing to a window.

"They're too high up for me to see anything," Paris muttered.  "Here, come stand on my shoulders."

Briseis nodded, knowing it would be unwise for her to enter such an establishment but wanting to know if he was inside.  Awkwardly, Briseis climbed atop her unsteady perch, for Paris was not very sturdy.  Hands gripping the window ledge, she peered inside.

"I think it's him" Briseis asked, puzzled.  "What's he doing?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Paris whispered sharply, grimacing as the soles of her sandals bit into his shoulders.  The thin vest he wore and flowing pants were made of the lightest, most breathable linen.  The fabric provided little respite from her weight.

"I think he's dancing or something," Briseis said slowly after a moment of careful study.  "And he's drinking, oh Apollo, is he drinking.  I have never seen someone drink so much."

"This is wonderful," Paris muttered, wondering how they would get a drunken person and a mistrustful horse back to the palace.

"Wait, now he's grabbed a lyre from one of the men," Briseis said.  Paris instantly heard the clear, crisp notes of competency.

"He plays awfully well for a drunk," Paris admitted sourly.

"I've never heard anyone play that well before," Briseis said softly, a dreamy smile on her face. 

Sensing her delight, Paris shifted her weight in an effort to snap her out of it.  "Briseis, what has gotten into you?" he asked, tightening his grip on her ankles.

"Apollo's muses have blessed him with much skill," Briseis said firmly. 

"Have you confirmed that he is alright now?" Paris asked impatiently. 

"Wait, the man's taken his lyre back…something's wrong," Briseis said.  "No one's dancing anymore.  They're all looking at Theseus."

"Is that all?" Paris asked.  "You're getting heavy."

Briseis ground her heel into Paris's left shoulder, causing him to stumble back.  When he managed to regain his balance, Briseis was shoved into the wall against the window.

"Theseus is running up the stairs now," Briseis said.  Panic crept into her voice.  "They're trying to corner him!  He's heading right for this window!  Paris, get me down!  **_NOW_**!"

Paris obliged as fast as he could, but the force of the Theban's weight as he came flying out the window and crashing into his cousin made the process go much quicker than he himself would have been capable of.  Paris's body screamed as Briseis's landed on top of his, his thin frame cushioning her fall.  Theseus landed several feet away, on a patch of bare ground the horses had considerately moved aside and left for him.  Several men stood at the window, shouting and cursing.

"Apollo, this has been a rough night," Theseus muttered.  The slender man got up shakily, steadying himself on one of the nearby horses.  The animal at first flinched from his unfamiliar touch, but soon calmed itself and allowed him to remain.  Theseus reflexively began to pat the horse, the gesture soothing and calming.

Without a word, Theseus grabbed Briseis and flung her onto the back of the animal.  Paris found himself lifted onto the air and similarly deposited on the horse's back.

"What are you doing?" Paris demanded.

"Getting you out of here," Theseus said, the flash of his knife blade like a silver streak of lightning in the darkness.  It severed the leather cord that bound the horse to the post.  Theseus gave the animal a sharp smack on the flank, sending it running. 

"Head for home," Theseus commanded the pair as he hopped onto the back of Dusk.  The tie was likewise cut, and soon Theseus was racing off into the night.  A dozen of angry Trojan's poured out of the tavern, one of them very angry to discover his horse missing.  

  "There he goes!" another one yelled, mounting his horse and giving chase.  Knowing that Briseis and Paris were too far ahead to be seen, Theseus decided to lead the Trojan men on a wild chase.  Unfamiliar with a large portion of the city, Theseus found this to be fairly easy.  Galloping through the darkened streets, Theseus avoided the well-lit areas of the city that were devoted to festival kiosks.

_This is worse than yesterday_, Theseus thought miserably.  _I have eleven men chasing me now._

 "Damn!" Theseus yelled, recognizing the lone figure that was in the middle of the road, blocking his way.  Pulling Dusk to a stop, Theseus eyed him warily, but spun the horse around to look at the eleven new arrivals.  Completely surrounded, Theseus remembered that he was unarmed, his sword having been lost in the race.

"Theban, can you not stay out of trouble?" the man asked, eyeing Theseus dangerously.

_Apollo, save me,_ Theseus thought before the first horseman charged.

****

"I find it impossible to believe that of all the foods in Troy, the great Prince Hector loves grapes the most," Andromache said with a grin.  She stood opposite Hector, who sat at a simple wooden table.

"Is there something wrong with that preference?" Hector asked archly, fingers drumming lazily on the tabletop.

"No, no, it's just that I'd always imagined you liking something more…masculine," Andromache finished lamely, trying not to smirk.

"And grapes are feminine?" Hector countered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.  He looked up at her, daring her. 

"Not that these are womanly traits, but grapes are soft and delicate and sweet," Andromache said.  "From all I'd heard about you, I'd expected you to be feasting on the flesh of your fallen opponents."

Laughing at the face Hector made, Andromache appeased him by placing a bushel of grapes on his plate.  When he started to pluck them off and eat them, she stopped him. 

"Let's eat in the garden, shall we?" she asked.

Hector nodded, but did not defer from eating the grapes.

"If you don't stop there won't be anything left!" Andromache admonished.  "Honestly."

"Are you my mother, now?" Hector asked, grinning widely.  Arm easily blocking the wide swing she took at him, he laughed.  "I like teasing you, Andromache.  You always react but you never get angry."

"I've been teased by my brothers enough to last ten lifetimes," Andromache told him, packing away a carafe of wine. 

"Paris has gotten into enough trouble to last him twenty," Hector sighed.  "That's worse."

"He can be quite a handful," Andromache muttered, eyeing several slices of hard bread critically before grabbing a cloth to wrap them in.

"He said that about _you_, once," Hector said, laughing at the crimson stain that appeared on Andromache's face.  "Depending on the part, of course."

She blinked.

"You're _awful!_" Andromache shrieked, throwing a piece of bread at Hector.  Unprepared for such abuse, the food struck him above the eye.  Regaining his reflexes, he caught it before it fell.

"You just threw a piece of bread at me," Hector said in disbelief.  He looked down at it, the hard crust crumbling in his grip.

"Yes I _did_!" Andromache crowed.  "That was something I didn't need to know about Paris!  Why did you have to tell me he said that?  It's terrible!"  Exasperation overtook her, and she threw another piece.

Ducking beneath the next missile, Hector pointed at her.  "Don't do that again!"

"Or what?" Andromache demanded, launching another piece at his head.  "What will you do?"

"This!" Hector said, catching the bread and swiftly returning it.  Smacking her in the right eye, Andromache let it fall on the ground.

"You just hit me in the face with bread," she deadpanned, a look of shock clear and evident. 

Hector laughed.  "Yes I did!" he said, repeating her earlier words.  He threw the piece he had held from before.  The hard crust left a trail of crumbs in her hair as it flew over her shoulder.

"You!" Andromache said accusingly, reaching down to scoop up the fallen bread.  She grabbed it but before she could throw it, a third piece struck her in the jaw.  It was the second piece she'd thrown at Hector.  He had retrieved it from the floor before she had retrieved her own. 

Hand over her mouth where the bread had just hit, she narrowed her eyes at him and threw her projectile.  Sidestepping neatly, Hector laughed when it missed.  As it flew past his back, he reached behind him and caught it neatly.  With a casual flick of the wrist, it went sailing back in her direction, and it hit her right in the forehead.

Shrieking at this defeat, she scrambled to the table, scooping up a fruit bowl.  Cradling it in the crook of an arm, Andromache selected an apple.  Palming the firm, red fruit, she tested its weight before sending it at Hector.  Unable to duck the blow, he felt the apple smack him firmly in the chest, hard enough to sting.  A quick succession of apples followed, most of them hitting their mark.

"Why you…" Hector couldn't help but smile at her victorious smirk, but he swore it would be short lived.  Trying not to wince inwardly at the future loss, he grabbed the bushel of grapes, detaching about a dozen with a quick squeeze and pull.  Simultaneously, he threw all of them at her.  Delighting in her grimace as twelve wet, cold grapes smacked her flesh, Hector quickly sought more ammunition.

Andromache threw open the cabinet above her head, muttering darkly when they were only full of plates and goblets.  It was only a game, and she definitely didn't want to throw something as painful as a glass wine flute in his direction.  She knelt, knowing her back was vulnerable but needing more food to throw after exhausting all her apples.  Finding nothing, she got up and turned around, only to receive a handful of almonds hitting her in the face.  Several fell down the front of her gown.

Shock widened Andromache's eyes and set her mouth agape.  As they fell from the hem of her gown, she picked up some of the almonds and threw them back at Hector, only to have them become obsolete.  Two handfuls, left and right, of almonds were flying at her head.

Hands covering her face, Andromache felt the tiny ping of a hundred almonds bouncing on her skin.  Bristling at the laughter she heard from the other side of the room, Andromache lowered her hands and dashed for the counter at the far end of the kitchen.  Chuckling when she discovered it was exactly what she hoped, she unwrapped the item and flung it back at Hector.

The wet slap of raw meat stung Hector right in the face.  On the verge of hysterical laughter and absolute aggravation, Hector pried the projectile from his skin, throwing it carelessly on the table.  Laughing at the dark look on Hector's face, Andromache was unprepared when Hector's hand emerged from behind his back.  A cloud of red powder enveloped her; Andromache sneezed.

_Cinnamon, she gagged_, the spice clogging her nose and mouth.  _I'll never see it the same way again…_

She had closed her eyes in time, but the scented powder clung to her eyelashes and skin, clumping where it encountered the wet trails the grapes had left earlier.  Shaking her head, she felt clouds of cinnamon fall from her hair.  She looked dismally at her hands, which were coated in the red spice.

A chuckle escaped Hector's throat, and Andromache's eyes snapped up to look at him.  A look of disbelief was suspended on her features, as if she couldn't believe what he had just did.  A noise escaped her own throat, and she recognized it was laughter. 

Hector looked terrible; his hair was disheveled, juice from the raw meat dripped down the side of his face, and breadcrumbs littered his robe.  Realizing then that she looked equally dreadful.  The dust from almonds clung to her hair; she was sticky from grapes, and reeked of cinnamon, which currently coated her face and neck.

"You look terrible," Andromache said, throwing her hair back and laughing.  The gesture flung a spray of cinnamon onto the floor.  Overcome by the hilarity of the situation, she collapsed on the floor, right in the middle of a mound of almonds. 

Succumbing to his laughter as well, Hector leaned against the edge of the table, his hand falling in the stickiness of apple juice.  Seeing some almonds left in the container, he flung the remnants of the jar at her.  Swatting them away, Andromache tried to evade them by standing but slipped, her soles sliding on the hard shells of the almonds.

"I've never been in a battle of food before," Hector said, throwing her a lopsided grin.  More chuckles followed.

"Actually, neither have I," Andromache said, trying to catch her breath after laughing so hard.  It hurt to continue laughing, but Andromache was helpless to do anything but.  She was happy.

"I think this was very cathartic," Hector said solemnly before laughing again.  "Except now I'm not hungry.  I've ruined all my grapes, too."

"Not this one," Andromache said, reaching across the floor and scooping one up.  It was covered in cinnamon.  She threw it to him. 

Inspecting it with mock seriousness, Hector carelessly flung it over his shoulder.  "I think I'll pass on that."

Theseus adjusted the position of the horse, trying to shield the animal from the blow.  Bracing himself for the pain of the descending blade, Theseus let out a sharp breath when it failed to fall.

"Stop," Lysander commanded.  "As much as I do not like to admit it, he did win second place in this evening's race.  Apollo would frown to see him harmed."

"He stole my friend's horse, Commander Lysander!" one of the men accused. 

"I'll see your friend gets it back," Lysander said, eyeing Theseus hard.  The Theban shrunk from the glare but nodded.

"Briseis and Paris have him," Theseus said.  "The horse is back at the palace by now.  I can easily return him to you right now if you want."

"How can I trust you?" demanded the man, pointing at Theseus.

"I will return him to you tomorrow, Lieutenant," Lysander said evenly to the man.  "But right now I will escort Theseus to back to the palace so he does not create any more problems."

Satisfied with this, the man nodded.  He jerked his head towards his friends, a motion for them to stand down.  The horsemen rode off, leaving Lysander and Theseus alone.

"Thank you for stepping in," Theseus said gratefully.

"Look here, Theban," Lysander said curtly, cutting off the younger man.  "I don't want your gratitude.  I did it to spare His Majesty's horse, which you do not deserve to ride.  You've some skill, I'll grant you that, but don't think you've earned my respect by any means."

Theseus felt a mixture of shame, anger, and frustration build.  Though he knew it was considered weak, the urge to cry nagged him.  He did not like to fall short of the expectation of others, and to do so hurt him on a level beyond explanation.  Rarely had there been a time when he had ever let someone down, and he felt that in some way, he had done so to Lysander.

Gazing ahead stonily, Theseus followed Lysander back to the palace.  Lysander watched as he carefully led Dusk to his stall, gently removing the bit and saddle.  Theseus cleaned the animal, inspecting him for wounds.  Finding none, Theseus filled the water tray and placed hay in the trough, stepping outside the stall so the horse could eat. 

Though Lysander found the Theban's social behavior appalling, he could only marvel at the man's skill with horses.  Even Hades, a mere stall away, showed no signs of ill will toward the Theban.  Unable to control the horse, his wife had suggested that Lysander give him to Hector to train. 

Hades responded to Hector, and now to Theseus, who was absently patting the beast as Dusk ate eagerly from his trough.  It was not fair that his horse bonded more with a stranger than with his own master.

Exhaling sharply, Lysander could not stand to watch anymore.  Departing from the stables hastily, the older man fled the sight of Hades allowing Theseus's comb brushing through his mane.

****

Andromache and Hector lost track of how long they sat in silence, the lack of spoken communication having been replaced by the unspoken kind.  Both looked at each other, sometimes sheepishly, sometimes happily, and sometimes there was an emotion that flitted between them that neither could recognize.  Both could not tear their eyes from the other.

Andromache felt a strange sensation in her chest at the way Hector looked at her; no one had ever made her feel so intensely aware of herself.  Once again the dark spell of his eyes made her shiver, she was acutely aware of her tousled hair, aching stomach from too much laughter, and cinnamon-coated skin.  It was a look of intense scrutiny he gave her, but she could not detect any criticism.

Hector could not explain the knots forming in his stomach as she looked at him.  There was humor, embarrassment, happiness, satisfaction, warmth, and seemingly countless other emotions her gaze embodied.  But the one that struck him most was intimacy.  Closeness.  As if there wasn't a table between their psyches.  The room contained two happy spirits that mingled freely within its confines, regardless of where their bodies were. 

Stiffening as the door to the kitchen flung open, Andromache and Hector stood abruptly.  A shriek emitted from Elektra, the sixty-year-old servant who was in charge of the kitchens.  Knowing any explanation would be pointless, Hector and Andromache remained silent as she ushered them from the room frantically, swatting at both of them and scolding them relentlessly.  Once out of the room, the door slammed shut, presumably so the woman could reclaim the room as her own by cleaning it, reorganizing it, and restocking it.

Fleeing the scene of their crime, the pair ran hand in hand through the halls, overcome with excitement.  They knew someone would reprimand them later for their actions, but it was not their primary concern.  The thrill of their kitchen battle still raced through their veins.

Hector could not help but laugh again when they reached the fork in the hallway.  She would go left, and he, right.  Not wanting to leave her and this rather comfortable feeling between them, he lingered between the spot where he knew they would part.  His hand held hers, their fingers lacing together as his palm slid against hers.

Looking around, the Trojan prince made sure now one else was around to overhear.  "That was fun," Hector admitted.  "I've never done something like that before.  I've always been so well-behaved."

"I haven't," Andromache said with a grin.  "But I'm surprised I have not done something similar to this before."

"I think Father is going to have to punish me," Hector said, a rare roguish smile on his lips.  "He's never had to do that before.  I think he'll be shocked."

Allowing Hector to draw her closer, Andromache's arms slid around his neck.  The action caused the chain around her waist to shift, and seven almonds fell from folds of her gown.  Laughing, both Hector and Andromache bent to pick them up, their foreheads touching as the knelt.

"What are you feeling right now?" Andromache asked bravely, the almonds clutched in her sweaty palm.  She felt nervousness creep into the comfort she had been feeling. 

Looking away from her eyes in a show of deep thought, Hector could not pin down one emotion. 

"I feel…a lot of things," he admitted quietly.  "I feel excited, but comfortable.  I also feel a bit ashamed, but strangely content.   But I think most of all I feel…_young_."

A smile spread slowly across Andromache's face.  "Is that a _good_ feeling?" she asked him.

"It's not one I'm terribly familiar with," Hector admitted.  "Even when I was a kid I was serious.  But it's a good feeling."

"Good," Andromache said firmly, her face a ridiculous grin.  She couldn't help but smile at his earnestness.  She found it endearing. 

"I hope that makes you happy," Hector said with a grin, standing slowly.  He proceeded by helping her to her feet.  "Because now I smell like raw meat, apples, and bread."

"Would you prefer to smell like grapes and cinnamon?" Andromache asked.

A twinkle in Hector's dark eyes caused Andromache to draw in a shaky breath.  "Yes, I would," he said, drawing her into his arms again.  Free of interruptions, he kissed her.  It was the middle of the night, both were covered with sticky food, and it was a musty, dark hallway where they stood.  But neither could have asked for a more opportune moment.

Andromache mourned the loss of his lips against hers, even though she admittedly had no idea if she was kissing properly or if there was even a proper way to kiss.  When their lips broke away, she looked up at him, his dark eyes unfathomable.

"Goodnight, Andromache," Hector said.  "I'll look forward to receiving my punishment tomorrow with you."

"As do I," Andromache said with a grin.  Regrettably, their hands had to release each other's before they could return to their rooms.  Each step they took from one another was difficult, and Hector found himself looking back over his shoulder.  Before he turned his head forward again, he saw her look back at him and smiled.

****

Sitting in a tub that smelled strongly of cinnamon, Andromache leaned back in the warm water.  The wretched spice had been a nightmare to cleanse from her hair, but she had dutifully completed the task.  Andromache looked over the rim of the tub where her gown lay, four more almonds sitting beside it.  Facing forward again, Andromache sighed deeply.  Knowing Hector was doing the same in his own room, she smiled up at the ceiling.


	16. Sixteen

16

…

MaryScot 

…

"Theseus, are you alright?" Briseis's normally melodious voice sounded like a thousand swords being scraped across stone.  Bravely opening an eye to confirm that it really was her proved to be a mistake; the large quantity of light that flooded his vision caused him to nearly roll out of the bed. 

"What's the matter with him, Paris?" Briseis squeaked, looking to Paris helplessly.  She was perched on the edge of the bed next to Theseus, who had curled himself into a fetal position, his hands grasping his head.  Seconds later, his arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

Paris leaned back in his chair across from her and looked as if he were about to laugh.  He released the ties that held the curtains back, and the fabric slipped forward once again to hide the sun.  "Headache, nausea, and sensitivity to light are common the morning after one has imbibed large amounts of wine," Paris told her.

"Please keep your voice down," Theseus moaned, his hands moving back to his head as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"So is sensitivity to sound," Paris said with a grin, but lowered his voice. 

"Will he be alright?" Briseis asked worriedly.

"Yes, but it takes time," Paris told her.

Opening an eye to peer at Paris, Theseus frowned.  "You seem to be an expert when it comes to this," he pointed out.  "How are you so familiar with the effects of drinking?"

"…I think I'll decline to answer that," Paris said solemnly, turning away.  Standing, he went over to the window.  "At any rate, I cannot abide such behavior during a festival devoted to Apollo."

"But if it were only a festival devoted to Dionysus," sighed Theseus melodramatically, losing his good humor when Paris threw open the curtains once again.  "I meant no disrespect!"

"You should get your act together," Paris said curtly. 

"My sister does not lie, and she told me that you have been seducing married women for the past two years," Theseus countered stiffly, some of the venom diminished by the fact that his hands were clamped over his eyes.  "But I suppose since this is a religious festival and all, you will…_kindly_ set your sights on young maidens.  The gods might look more favorably on that."

"What are you saying?" Paris asked.  "The gods are above reproach!"

"But you are not," interceded Theseus swiftly.  "Yet you indulge in their behavior.  But not all their actions are to be worshipped.  Even Apollo himself is the result of Zeus' betrayal of his wife Hera.  You must also recognize the consequences of your actions."

"You have no right to judge me," Paris said, pointing his finger at Theseus.  "You are no better than I."

"No one is any better than another, but that does not mean mankind does not pass judgment," Theseus said, wincing as he sat up in the bed.  His back pointedly facing the window, the Theban was obviously in pain but said nothing further about the sunlight.

"Why should it matter what you think?" Paris demanded, staring hard at Theseus.

"It shouldn't," Theseus said, shrugging once more.  "But I'm not necessarily condemning you.  I just mentioned that your actions would have consequences.  Am I wrong?"

Paris said nothing, unwillingly reminded of all the times he had gotten caught by a woman's husband.  Whether it was entering the house, leaving the house, or during the act itself, Paris had the unfortunate experience of being caught.  His royal influence had spared the wives of execution or banishment, but he had never thought about the consequences because the women he encountered never meant too much to him.

Without a word, Paris jerked away from the window and stalked out of the room.  The door slammed shut after hitting the wall sharply.  Briseis was left with Theseus, whose headache had definitely not subsided.

"You were awfully harsh to him," Briseis said quietly.  "He never goes into those kinds of things with the intention to cause harm, but I don't think he really considers what happens after the affairs end.  Paris isn't bad, he's just…I don't think I can explain it."

"I wish he had not belittled my respect for Apollo," Theseus said softly.  "Apollo has blessed me and I have thanked him every day, but the gods are not perfect.  And anyone can accuse me of blasphemy but they would be completely wrong.  You can respect someone but recognize their faults."

"I can't think of anything that Apollo has done wrong," Briseis said dreamily.  "He has protected our city for centuries and has blessed us with wealth, wise leadership, and peace.  I have not mentioned this to anyone yet, but I…I've been considering the path of a temple maiden."

"You would be the only one safe from your cousin Paris," grumbled Theseus, but he had a twinkle in his eye.

"Don't make fun," Briseis scolded.  "I'm being completely serious.  I might become a temple maiden when I turn twenty one."

"Why so late?" Theseus said.  "If you have desire to experience the outside world before living a life of peace, you have to remember that Apollo's temple will only accept virgins."

Briseis glared coldly at Theseus.  "I hope you are not implying that I would indulge in irreverent behavior," she said sharply.

Theseus shook his head sincerely.  "I was not thinking that.  I was thinking that you are of marrying age. If you were married and your husband died some time after, it would be too late for you to become a temple maiden then.  It is a decision to be made before considering marriage."

"But that's the key," Briseis said.  "I don't want to be used as a tool or an instrument.  My cousin Hector is lucky…his marriage to Andromache do not extend to military ties to Thebe."

Briseis could have sworn that a light died in Theseus's eyes.  "You should not make the decision to worship Apollo in a temple based on what you _think_ is good for you.  You have to make it based on what you _feel_.  It would not make a difference to Apollo if you devoted your life to him and your heart was not in it.  He would see through your farce in an instant.  You would be exploiting an institution by using it to escape an undesirable marriage.  You devote your life to him because you want to, no other reason."

Frowning, Briseis stared at the ground.  She barely felt the weight on the bed shift as Theseus stood.  He cleared his throat and she looked up.

"Might I convince you to lead me to Princess Cassandra's current location?" Theseus asked suddenly, the question strange enough to make Briseis cock her head to the side in confusion.

"Princess Cassandra?" Briseis repeated in disbelief. 

"Yes, there is something I wish to speak to her about," Theseus revealed.  "Do you think she'd see me?"

"Um, I'd have to ask her," Briseis said absently, wondering why Theseus would even want to talk to her.  Priam had never believed in Cassandra's abilities after Paris survived exposure on Mount Ida.  Yet even Paris himself had forgiven her; she had only been seven when she had made the prophecy. 

"I hear that she can foretell the future," Theseus said.  "And there is something important I must ask her.  It is nothing trivial, I assure you.  I just hope she can help answer a question of mine."

"How did you even hear of Princess Cassandra to begin with?" Briseis asked him curiously.  "Uncle Priam does not readily acknowledge her presence.  He does not believe in her abilities, not since her first prophesy resulted so disastrously.  When she was six, Apollo, knowing that she would grow to be a beautiful woman, asked that she save herself for him when she was older.  Very strong-willed, Cassandra rejected him, causing him deep humiliation.  In retaliation for this, he twisted her visionary gift into curse.  Whenever she has an important prophecy, rarely does anyone believe her.  In the rare case that someone does, his or her will is overruled by someone else."

"And she is the one who made the famous prophecy about your cousin Paris?" Theseus asked.

"Yes, and it was that incident that turned Priam against her," Briseis said sadly.  "She foretold that Paris would be the downfall of Troy.  One of the superstitious advisors close to my uncle suggested that the boy be abandoned on Mount Ida.  A nine year old child would die swiftly on the mountain; Priam could not bring himself to order Paris's death directly."

"I cannot imagine any father who could kill his own child," Theseus said, shaking his head.

"Paris had only been on the mountain for a day when Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena appeared.  During the previous day the goddess of discord threw an apple betwixt them, saying it belonged to the fairest of the three.  Each claiming they were most fair, the goddesses announced that young Prince Paris would decide.  After all, he was a beautiful mortal boy of royal descent."

"I wonder which goddess he picked," Theseus said dryly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.  He raised his eyebrow and Briseis, who smiled.

"Hera offered him control over all of Asia Minor, Athena promised to give him the skill to outwit the Greeks, and Aphrodite promised him the love of the world's most beautiful woman," Briseis told him.  "And Paris, being the nine-year-old boy he was, thought the last option sounded best."

"I would have picked Athena if she promised such a thing to me," Theseus murmured softly, not noticing the strange tone his voice held.  "But please continue with the story.  It's not over, I'm assuming."

"No, for when Paris returned healthy at the city gates to face a mourning Priam, the king was so angry at the pain he had suffered and has resented Cassandra ever since.  After that day, hardly anyone has believed her.  The entire kingdom knew that the goddess Aphrodite had chosen to save him, and Cassandra had been cursed by the god Apollo."

"I feel sorry for her," Theseus said after a moment.

"She wouldn't want your pity, Theseus," Briseis told him.  "She would begrudge you for it."

Theseus looked pensive.  "But she must feel so _alone_…"

Had his elderly cook not rushed into his room in tears early that morning, Priam would have sworn the situation was funny.  But he had seen the kitchen, and it looked as if a war had been waged with food.  Tracks of cinnamon led to Princess Andromache's bedroom, and a robe smelling heavily of fermenting apples appeared in Prince Hector's laundry.   

_This is the first time I've actually had to punish Hector for doing something childish_, Priam thought wryly.  _But sadly, he is twenty two…he should have started years ago…this is not normal…but then again, Hector has never been an ordinary son.  He still acts boyish on occasion but even as a youth he never acted like a _child_…_

Hector felt uncomfortable under the strength of his father's glare.  He shifted his feet, examining the suddenly interesting hem of his robe.  He toyed with the edge, focusing on the toe of his sandal in an effort to ignore the burning stare of an angry Priam.

_If Paris has survived similar scrutiny whenever he was in trouble, I have to treat him with more respect,_ Hector thought, glance darting at the pale blue irises which resembled jagged chips of ice than eyes.

_I'm glad Priam isn't looking at me like that_, Andromache thought worriedly, wondering when the king would turn his wrathful stare on her.  She was a little relieved that he had not yet.

"Hector, I witnessed the terrible condition of the kitchen this morning," Priam said sternly.  "_Well_ before the sun rose, might I add.  Elektra was reasonably distraught over what happened and I assured her that both of you will be making it up to her."

A prick of fear caused Andromache's brow to lift.  "What would you have us do?" she asked Priam bravely, trying not to flinch when he turned to her and fixed her with his eerie blue eyes.

"You will be staying at the castle instead of attending the festival tomorrow," Priam said. 

_That was going to be our first night together at the festival_, Andromache thought mournfully. 

"You will be helping her with plans for the seventh night feast," Priam ordered.  "You will be going to market during the day to purchase the ingredients she requests, and at night you will be preparing the food."

"So far in advance?" Andromache asked. 

"Elektra made this request, I am simply honoring it," Priam said firmly.  "I do not know her intentions, but the least you could do for destroying her kitchen is replenish her supplies and lend her your aid for one evening."

"But I cannot—" Hector began.

"—You can!" Priam commanded.  "And you will.  Your behavior was absolutely shocking.  Throwing food like an infant!  You are dismissed.  Close the door behind you."

"Yes, Father," Hector said obediently, bowing his head.  Andromache turned to leave as well.

"You, Princess Andromache, are _not_ free to go," Priam said sharply, causing the girl to stiffen.  She meekly turned around and stood straight, averting her gaze to the side.  The king's eyes were focused on his son's departure.  When Hector had closed the doors of the throne room, Priam turned his attention back to her.

"Now, Princess Andromache, you will tell me one thing," Priam said in a low voice.

"And what is that?" Andromache said, her voice quiet but slightly high-pitched.

Priam's bright blue eyes locked with hers.  Andromache held her breath.

"Who won?"

"I have been expecting this," Cassandra said calmly, smiling at the look of shock on her cousin's face.

"You knew he wanted to see you?" Briseis asked incredulously.  "But how?  You two have never even met."

"That is only what you think," Cassandra said distantly.  "But the Theban has been a recurring character in my dreams."

A twinge of annoyance flickered in Briseis.  "You've dreamt of him?"

Smiling again at the older girl's obvious emotion, Cassandra nodded.  "And he has dreamt of me.  Tell him I will meet with him tonight in the garden after dinner hour.  There is much to discuss."

Briseis nodded, too tied up in her thoughts to miss the unreadable look that flashed in her cousin's eyes.  Cassandra left wordlessly, leaving behind a very confused sixteen-year-old girl.

Waiting outside the throne room for Andromache, Hector saw that she wore a strange expression.  She fixed him with a strange look.

"Hector, in there you said 'I can't'…but the task he gave us is not that bad a punishment," Andromache pointed out.

"I didn't get to finish," Hector said softly. 

"Then what did you mean to say?" Andromache asked curiously.

"It's nothing important," Hector muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

"No, please, I want to know what you were going to say," Andromache said urgently.

"I was trying to tell my father that…" Hector trailed off.

"…Yes…" Andromache said expectantly.

Hector sighed deeply before finishing. "…I can' t cook."

"Briseis, what's the matter?" Andromache asked her cousin, who wore an uncharacteristically vacant expression.  The streets were brightly lit, the torches a brilliant contrast to the night sky.  The air was practically buzzing with activity, yet the most energetic girl Andromache knew was not saying a word.

"Hm?" Briseis's head snapped up, her attention only won after Andromache tapped her arm.

"Briseis, tell me what's wrong," Andromache pleaded.  "I'm worried about you.  You were so excited about this night before but now your heart isn't in it.  What's the matter?"

"Oh, I just—just," Briseis faltered, not quite sure if she wanted to tell Andromache or not.  "Never mind."

"No, please tell me, Briseis," Andromache urged.  "I'm worried about you."

"It's Theseus," Briseis said huffily, crossing her arms.  "I'm not falling in love or something of the sort, it's just…I'd consider him a friend now and I like his attention.  Today we were talking, and I told him—well, I suppose you could consider it a dream—and he disapproved of my reasons.  Immediately afterwards, he inquired the whereabouts of my cousin Cassandra.  I set up a meeting between the two and he's still with her.  I don't feel jealous, per se, but I feel…_dismissed_…I don't like the feeling."

"I used to always get mad at him whenever he abandoned me to join my older brothers," Andromache remembered, toying with the small wooden box full of drawing charcoal she had bought earlier that evening.  "Theseus is…well, he's so vibrant and full of personality that everyone wants his attention.  He was always my mother's favorite child and there is not a single Theban I know who does not like his company."

"But there are some Trojans," Briseis said with a giggle.

"Yes," Andromache said.  "Paris for one."

"I think he's just jealous that I'm happier to see someone else," Briseis said.  "Paris wants to be everyone's favorite.  I think it's because he always takes second place to Hector that he desires everyone's love so.  Speaking of Hector, do the two of you have plans for tomorrow night?"

 "…Er…we do, in a manner of speaking…" Andromache trailed off, uncharacteristically evasive. 

"How do you mean?" Briseis said.

"Um…King Priam punished us for…_rearranging_ certain items in the kitchen," Andromache said carefully.

"That was you?" Briseis asked ruefully.  "I heard the screams before the sun rose this morning.  Elektra has quite a scream; I thought she was being murdered or something.  But what are you two doing tomorrow, then?"

"Priam ordered us to spend the day purchasing ingredients at market," Andromache began, "and at night we are to remain at the castle and aid her in cooking for the feast."

"But that isn't until the final night," Briseis said.  "Why so early?"

"I do not know," Andromache admitted.  "But I fear that it will not be good."

"Elektra is…strange," Briseis said after a moment.  She was standing on her tiptoes to peer around Andromache's head as if she were looking for someone.  "She is originally from Sparta; she was captured by Troy when she was nine.  She is the same age as Uncle Priam.  They actually grew up together, which is why I think Uncle is so tolerant of her…strange behavior."

"What is so strange about her?" Andromache wondered, unable to read the look in Briseis's eyes.

"You will see," Briseis said, with a tone of finality.  "It will not be terrible, I promise.  Anyway, I—"

"You what?" Andromache asked, unsure why the girl had suddenly stopped speaking.

Wordlessly, Briseis pointed.  A strange woman Andromache had never seen before was dancing with Theseus.  Young, but old enough to be married to him when she thought about it further, the girl was spinning amidst a swirl of brightly colored fabrics.  Wildly pretty for being only in her early teens, Andromache was anxious to know who the girl was.

"That's my sister, Cassandra," answered Paris after she inquired. 

"What is she doing, dancing at the Festival of _Apollo_?" muttered Briseis in disbelief.

"Actually, this dance is an Amazonian tradition for Artemis, Apollo's twin," Paris said, his sudden appearance nearly startling his cousin out of her wits.  "But why is Theseus dancing then?  Did Artemis not kill your mother?"

"Yes, but it was out of pity," Andromache answered distantly, squinting for a better look at Cassandra.  "After my mother's father passed away, she was inconsolable.  None of us could persuade her to eat or drink or rest, until one day my father could no longer bear to see her waste away.  He prayed to the gods to ease her pain, but did not imagine that the only way to do so would end her life."

"And you bear her no ill will?" Paris asked carefully.

"If you would have seen my mother…" Andromache said quietly.  "You would have thought to kill her would have been a mercy."

With that, Andromache grabbed Briseis's hand and dragged her towards the square.  Torches filled the area with intense light that flickered over the dancing bodies invitingly.  Briseis was horrified when Andromache grabbed her brother's arm and whispered something in his ear as the song ended.  He released Cassandra's hand and walked towards Briseis, who strongly felt the urge to flee.

"Theseus," Briseis whispered, realizing how much taller he was than she.  With a maniacal grin, he grabbed her hand and yanked her into the midst of the excitement.  With a shriek of surprise, she found herself being spun around in circles. 

"You're spinning me too fast!" Briseis protested, feeling her arm jolt as he pulled her closer to him. 

"What was that?" he yelled, unable to hear her over the music, laughing, and talking of the square. 

"Never mind," Briseis grumbled inaudibly, realizing her voice would not reach his ears.  Unaccustomed to dancing, she was unsure exactly how she was supposed to move her feet.  Looking to Theseus for an example, she was a little annoyed to find that he was too skilled to mimic.

"You are doing splendidly," Theseus complimented at the end of the song, gasping for breath.  Apparently he had been dancing for quite awhile.  Looking over at the crowd, Briseis spied Cassandra laughing, a sight which she had never seen before.  She wondered why she would be so amused until someone in the crowd screamed.  The music cut out abruptly, leaving the panicked voices of the crowd to create a new song.

"What happened?" Briseis asked frantically, looking to an equally confused Theseus.  He shrugged, motioning her to follow him as he ran towards his sister.

"Andromache, what's happening?" Theseus questioned in a low voice, his eyes darting around to find the disturbance.  Discovering the body of a man writhing on the ground and covered with blood, Theseus rushed to his side.  Briseis joined him.

"Briseis, come back!" Paris commanded, but to no avail.  His cousin was bent over the injured man's body, dark hair falling like a veil in front of her face.  She and Theseus were working jointly to discover the source of the man's wound.  Using his knife to tear open the sleeve of the man's tunic, Theseus sucked in a breath.

"A snake bite?" Briseis asked, confused.   

Theseus nodded.  He pointed at the twin marks.  "But why is there so much blood?" 

Briseis, feeling something was not right, pulled the sleeve of the tunic further away from the bite, exposing the real culprit of all the blood. 

"Did someone try to fix it without the proper knowledge?" Theseus wondered out loud, examining the crude knife marks skeptically. 

"It looks that way at first," Briseis said slowly.  She looked at Theseus, an odd look in her eyes.

"What is it?" Theseus asked, tearing the bottom of his robes into strips. 

"Something isn't right," Briseis murmured worriedly.  "Those knife wounds are too deep for someone trying to prevent the venom from spreading.  Besides, no one in their right state of mind would try to make those incisions since the wound is so close to the artery."  Eyes narrowing, Briseis wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.  "Andromache, fetch me some water!"

Andromache was off, accompanied by Cassandra.  Paris stood a few feet away, oblivious to the fact that both girls had left him.  His eyes were fixed on the bleeding man, who was thrashing and moaning in pain.

"Don't we need something cold?" Theseus asked Briseis quietly.

"No, but we need to elevate his body so the venom does not spread," Briseis muttered.  She turned to Paris.  "Bring me a table for this man to lay on." 

Paris nodded, disappearing into the crowd as Andromache and Cassandra reappeared.  Briseis took the basin of water and a strip of cloth Theseus had torn from his robe.  Dipping it into the cool liquid, she gently but thoroughly cleansed the bite and the surrounding wounds.

"Briseis!" Paris called, the anxious crowd parting to allow Theseus, a wooden table, and a constable passage.  "I brought him along in case he could identify the injured man."

Briseis nodded gratefully, motioning for the two men to move the casualty to the table.  Injured arm dangling from the table, the man began to protest.

"Shh, calm down," Briseis soothed.  Without thinking, she took the man's hand and held in comfortingly.  "It's better for you if you don't move.  I know it's uncomfortable, but it is for the best.  Can you tell me your name?"

His words inaudible, Briseis's shoulder's slumped when he fell unconscious.  She turned to face the constable, who bowed but did not dwell on formalities.

"Lady Briseis, A doctor has been called for, but I see you have taken the proper measures," the man said, nodding.  Wearing a casual robe, Paris had obviously summoned this man while he was off duty.  "I happen to know this man personally, his name is Caduceus.  Prince Paris told me about you suspecting treachery.  What leads you to believe this was not simply an accident?"

Briseis said nothing.  Though she was royalty, she was not a physician, and her status as a woman still put her at a disadvantage.  But as Briseis met the dark, steady gaze of the constable, she knew she had to risk him not believing her.  Her mind would not rest until she had revealed how she felt.

"The location of the wounds, they strike me as suspicious," Briseis murmured.  Glad the constable was listening intently, her voice sped up as she continued.  "The snake was obviously some type of adder, and they are normally non-aggressive.  If he stepped on the snake the wound would be on his leg or foot, and since the bite is on his upper arm he must have been lying down…"

"Please continue," the constable urged, watching her relief when a doctor arrived. 

"The man is obviously married, judging from the style of his hair, and the only person who should have discovered him if he would have been bitten was his wife," Briseis said quickly.  "But women are not trained as physicians, so she would not know the practice of making incisions around the wound.  If she would have even thought to do that, she wouldn't, for fear of accidentally killing her husband, which is punishable by death."

"So who made the incisions, then?" the constable asked, his voice steady but not unkind.

"Someone who wanted to make this look like an accident," Briseis said.  Her heart racing, she had never felt so alive before.  "It is early evening, too early for sleep, so Caduceus would not have been in bed.  Indeed, his clothes are meant to be worn during the day; he also wears sandals.  Changing his clothes and putting on shoes for a visit to the doctor would be impractical.  So he was not at home sleeping when he was bitten."

"Then where was he?" the constable asked.

"I think someone intentionally put a snake into his bed, at least after considering all the facts," Briseis said.  "I know it sounds far-fetched, but it is the only explanation.  He was not at home, or his wife would have found him.  She would have never wielded a weapon against her husband, for fear of execution.  A physician would have been summoned since he would have been too weak to move, and those marks are too clumsy for a professional.  A doctor would also be keeping a closer eye on his patient, not allowing him to wander into the middle of the square.  Someone else made those incisions, which means that the circumstances of this whole incident are skewed."

"How could he have gotten onto the streets in his condition?" asked the constable.

"There was a sizeable crowd gathered here," Briseis said, gesturing widely around her.  Indeed, a large group of people still remained, watching the events with a morbid fascination.  "His arms draped over someone else's shoulders, one might easily mistake him for a drunk whose friends are lending him aid.  He could have been abandoned in the confusion of the crowd and left to die."

The constable gazed at her evenly, but Briseis was determined not to flinch.  "You know that you are accusing someone of attempted murder?"

"Yes, but—" Briseis halted, gathering courage before continuing.  "I know I am right.  I _feel_ it."

For seemingly an eternity, Briseis locked eyes with the constable.  Just when she was about to give up hope, he nodded.

"I also share your doubts," he said.  "His wife most definitely would have called for a doctor.  I have a suspicion as to who is responsible.  I will have soldiers search the city for him, because my suspect, along with his associates, is linked to several other crimes."

"This man you suspect…what makes you think it is him?" Briseis asked bravely. 

"I know he made a bet on last evening's horse race," the constable said.  "And he lost to Caduceus.  He and his friends made the bet in the hopes of paying off a debt they owed him.  Caduceus told me this morning that he was going to collect his winnings tonight, allowing an entire day for them to amass the large sum they wagered."

The constable nodded to Briseis, who looked slightly relieved.  "Thank you for believing me," Briseis said gratefully, bowing her head.

"And thank you for saving my friend's life," the constable said with a small smile.  "You had best head back to the castle.  The carefree spirit of this evening has been spoiled by this event.  The dance has ended, so you and your husband should go home."

Bristling at the words 'your husband,' Briseis acquiesced.  "We are just friends, but you have a valid point.  I think the palace is my next destination."  With a nod, she walked over to Paris, Cassandra, and Andromache.

"That was brilliant," Cassandra said breathlessly.  "How did you know what to do about the bite?"

"It happened such a long time ago," Briseis murmured distantly.  "I was visiting the temple with my mother.  Someone had collapsed on the steps after being bitten by a snake…and I remembered what the high priest did.  How he took the person and placed him in a bed…made sure the wound was lower than the heart…comforted the poor man, who was scared and frantic…I tried to do the same."

"Well, it worked," Paris said with a grin.  "His wife showed up while you were talking to the constable, she was sobbing and crying and wailing…and that's after she found out he was going to make it."

"Paris, women cry when they're joyful, _too_, you realize," Theseus muttered mildly.  "I think she was _happy_ to hear he would live, not sad."

Grumbling darkly, Paris muttered something to Andromache.  Nodding, she turned to Theseus.

"Paris wishes to return to the palace," Andromache said softly.  "He thinks Cassandra has had enough excitement for one evening.  He suggested that perhaps you and Briseis should head back as well."

Theseus nodded.  He looked over at Briseis, who had joined Caduceus's wife.  The crying woman embraced Briseis tightly, who was slightly shocked but pleasantly so by her actions.

  "You three can head back," Theseus muttered, waving his hand.  "I'll escort Briseis back shortly.  I believe that the man's wife wishes more time with her, though."

Looking somewhat distastefully at the crying woman, Paris nodded.  "The night is ruined.  I shall see you both back at the castle."  He held his arms out for Cassandra and Andromache to take them, which they did.  Theseus could tell that Paris was very distressed that Cassandra had witnessed the events that had transpired and desperately wanted to get her home.

Briseis in the meantime was trying to comfort the distraught woman, who was terrified that the men who owed money to her husband might try and finish him off or attempt to kill her too.  The constable assigned sentries to guard the clinic where the Caduceus and his wife would be spending the night, but she was still worried.

"I promise, nothing bad will happen to you," Briseis soothed.  "The men who committed this foul deed will be caught straightaway.  So do not fret.  You will be protected.  There is no place in this city for them to hide."

Apparently satisfied at this, Caduceus's wife nodded slowly.  "Thank you, Lady Briseis.  May Apollo bless you the peace of mind that you have brought me."

Nodding in return, Briseis looked to Theseus, who took her arm in a formal gesture of respect.  "That was well done, Briseis," he said softly, heading back to the castle.  "You risked a lot by telling that constable what you really thought."

"What makes you say that?" Briseis asked, puzzled.  "What might have happened to me if he didn't?"

"You could become ostracized like Princess Cassandra," Theseus murmured quietly.  "Then no one would ever believe another word you said.  Your uncle is a wise ruler, but Cassandra found no forgiveness because she made him feel the depths of despair.  And even though Priam got Paris back, it never erased the pain of losing his son.  Priam's heart may be a good one, but it has the limitations that all humans have.  Not everyone can be strong enough to forgive."

Briseis mulled over the last part, the sound of her sandals loud in the emptying streets of the city.  An attempted murder in the middle of a religious festival shook the confidence of the people, who were hushed and jilted as they hurried home.

"Theseus, I feel so good about what I did today," Briseis said after a moment.  "A woman is rarely in the position to help other people unless she has power, but it wasn't my position of royalty that helped him today.  That constable could have called me a fool and a liar and that could have ended it, but he listened to what I had to say…not because I he had to…why did he?"

Theseus looked thoughtful, the sharp features of his young face lit harshly by the torchlight.  "Because I think he sensed the good in you," Theseus said after a moment.  "He knew that you genuinely wanted to help Caduceus.  He knew you risked your reputation to speak your mind.  He knew that you represented a hope of finding out the truth."

"Hope…" Briseis muttered.  "I think I should like to be a beacon of hope for others…Theseus, you said that if I were to ever become a priestess that I do it because of how I feel.  If I get married to a rich man, there would not be anything special about that.  My life would have such a common purpose that any woman could fulfill.  But not every woman becomes a priestess of Apollo.  It is a position of servitude, to both the god and the people.  And though you were right when you said Apollo would not care about me if I served him under false pretenses, do you think he would begrudge me for serving him if I did it for myself?  I want my life to mean something, and yes, that is selfish, but only by helping others and doing all I can to stay true to my feelings will I find my purpose.  What do you think?"

Stopping abruptly and whirling to face him, Theseus could detect the desperation in her eyes.

"I think that finding your purpose isn't selfish in your case because your goal isn't selfish," Theseus told her.  "I think that of all the things the gods deny us mortals, a purpose should not be one of them.  You should become a priestess, Briseis, because I do not think you will find your purpose any other way."

"You really think that I might—" Briseis's voice was cut off by the sensation of slamming into wall of a house.  She collapsed, the wind knocked out her after colliding with the stone.  Terrified, Briseis froze as a hand reached out for her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her onto her feet.  She was dimly aware that she was being pulled into an alley.  She squeezed her eyes shut when he released her.

"Listen, you little chit, you've only got a minute left before I kill you, but before I do, I want you to watch your friend die because of your meddling," a voice growled in her ear.  Briseis opened her eyes suddenly, aware of Theseus struggling with two men further down the street.

_He really is a good fighter, but he won't last,_ Briseis thought sadly, knowing he would not be able to hold out long against two opponents.  Briseis's scream was smothered by the man's hand as she watched a flash of silver disappear into Theseus's back.  When the knife was wrenched out, rivulets of blood streamed from the silver edge.  Theseus stumbled backwards, the wet smatter of blood audible when his shoulder blade smacked into the wall.  He sank to his knees, leaving a trail of crimson on the gray stones.

"Scream again, and the next one hits his heart," the low voice warned.  "But for now, I just want you to experience a little bit of the pain that you have put us through this evening."

Briseis barely had time to blink before a fist smashed into her nose.  Blood gushed from her nostrils, dribbling over her chin.  The next blow mashed her lips against her teeth, and when she lifted a shaking hand reached her mouth, it came away wet with blood.  Through the haze of unbelievable pain, she thought she could hear Theseus's voice.  Her concentration was jarred when his fist slammed into her left eye.

"Briseis!" Theseus's voice became clearer as Briseis lay groaning on the street.  With her un-swollen eye, she glanced over at Theseus, who looked more worried about her than the steadily bleeding wound on his back.

"Theseus," Briseis choked on blood as the man grabbed her once more by the hair.  Jerked painfully to her feet, she looked at her assailant helplessly.  He slowly raised the knife to eye level, making sure she could see that he held a weapon.  Raising it high above his head, it seemed to freeze when she heard someone speak.

"Briseis, fight them, _fight them_!" Theseus yelled.  His determination was not suppressed when he was cuffed sharply on the jaw. The blow sent him crashing onto his side.  Wincing as he felt the wound in his shoulder split open, he did not cease his plea.  He hoped fervently that it reached her ears.  "You won't ever have any type of greater purpose if you let yourself die in a place like this!  **FIGHT THEM**!"

Eyes narrowing as she flew into a whirl of desperation, zeal, and anger, Briseis screamed.  With a viscous yank she tore her hair from his grasp.  He bellowed with rage when she raked her fingernails across his cheeks, the gesture achieving its desired results.  He pushed her away from him, bringing his hands to his bleeding face.  With all her might she seized his wrist and smacked his hand into the wall, causing him to loosen his hold on the knife.  Realizing her intent, he tightened his grip on the knife and used her hold on him to pull her close.  His empty fist punched her in the jaw, sending her to the ground.

"You little bitch," the man growled, throwing his knife onto the ground.  She felt her lungs being crushed when he straddled her chest, pinning her arms at her sides.  His large hands closed around the slender column of her neck.  "I should have done this right from the start."

Briseis tried to squirm away but she was captured too tightly.  Eyes squeezing shut to blink away tears, she tried to wonder how she could continue to fight.  Feet thrashing, she flinched when her ankle hit something sharp.  The knife.  Trying to yell but barely managing a feeble squeak, she kicked the dagger over the Theseus.  Without hesitating, he picked up the blade and plunged it into one of the men's thighs.  A serious but not life-threatening wound, the man was out of commission.  The other lackey was closing in when he suddenly fell over.  An arrow was poking out of his shoulder.

Realizing at least Briseis could be saved if Theseus reached her attacker in time, he threw himself onto her assailant, knocking him off.  The knife fell from his hands, only to be seized by the enemy.  Aiming for Briseis, the man obviously intended to finish what he started, in some form or another.  Without thinking, Theseus moved to intercept it, gasping when the gleaming metal blade disappeared to its hilt.  Twisted before being jerked out, the knife caused a lance of white-hot pain to shoot straight to his heart.  His eyelids became heavy, and Theseus pitched forward before being swallowed by blackness.

Briseis was horrified.  As the man lay trapped under Theseus's unconscious body, he raised his knife to finish off the Theban.  Briseis could not watch Theseus die, not after watching him take a blow meant for her.  Not after knowing that he had changed her life and set a path for her.  Not after realizing that no one could help her understand herself better.

Briseis couldn't breath, not after being strangled so violently.  Before she felt all her senses leave her, Briseis felt her foot catch on a cobblestone.  She pitched forward, unable to summon the strength to stop her fall.  Her chin hit the ground painfully, reminding her of the wounds she had received earlier.  In the fading light of her vision, she glimpsed the descending silver blade of a knife.

Her eyes slid closed against her will; Briseis gasped when she heard a choked cry.  Surrendering to pain, grief, and darkness, Briseis felt a tear slid down her bruised and bleeding cheek.

_I'm sorry, Theseus._


	17. Seventeen

17

…

MaryScot 

…

Briseis felt as if her mind was drifting along the current of the sea, bobbing softly to the delicate rhythm of the waves. The sun was warm; its rays were gentle and soothing. The sound of birds floated on the air, light and crisp, like the clouds that rolled lazily across the sky. Everything was peaceful until she was aware of the sound of fabric rustling by her ear. The noise was so harsh it was like metal blade scraping armor.

Briseis shot up abruptly, her head throbbing at the sudden motion. Her nose felt as if a hammer had beaten it. Looking around, she noticed a curtain of white linen surrounded her bed. Through a gap in the cloth, she noticed there were similar beds in the room. An infirmary. With a strangled sob, Briseis recalled the last memory she had before she had passed out. A falling blade followed by a strangled cry.

"Theseus," Briseis shouted, beginning to sob. Her hands pressed to her face, pain flaring as they brushed her injuries. But none of that pain could draw her attention away from the deep sense of loss she felt in her chest. It felt as if someone had torn a gaping wound in her heart.

"Briseis?" a voice asked gently, parting the curtain. It was Paris. "Are you awake?"

Shaking her head furiously, Briseis felt the wounds on her neck disagree with the movement. "Oh, Paris! He's gone!"

"Who?" Paris asked, bewildered.

"Him!" Briseis wailed, her voice cracking. "Were you the one that found me last night?"

"Yes, I was accompanied by Lysander, but we split up. I found you first, he a minute later."

"Then you saw!" Briseis moaned, her hair falling around her shoulders a tangled mess. "You saw it happen! You saw Theseus!"

"Yes, I did," Paris said solemnly. "The first thing I saw when I reached the alley was a man running for him. I shot him with an arrow. Theseus saw that help had arrived but knew I could not shoot an arrow at your attacker without risking harm to you as well. So he charged your attacker himself…I saw him take a blow that was meant for you…"

"He saved me, Paris," Briseis whispered, lowering her eyes. "And _I_ tried to save _him_. But I was so weak that I fell…and I let him die. The last thing I saw was Theseus _dying_…I watched the blade fall, I heard him die."

"Briseis," Paris said gently, "I don't think that is what you saw…if you recall, I told you that Lysander was also at the scene of this attack. And although he arrived later, his contribution was no less grand. It was Lysander's blade you saw, and it did not kill Theseus. It sliced off the arm of Theseus's attacker, saving his life."

"_…!_" Briseis's head snapped back towards Paris. "Where is he?" The demand was rough, urgent, and desperate.

Paris looked over his shoulder at someone who was blocked by the curtain before gently pulling it back. Lysander came into view, and performed a similar motion on the curtain beside another bed. Theseus lay there, the imperceptible movement of his breathing the only indication of life. Briseis released the breath she had not known she had been holding.

"Theseus," Briseis murmured, looking to Lysander. "Thank you for saving him."

"It was nothing," Lysander muttered gruffly. "Under normal circumstances, a man and a woman would not be recuperating in the same room, but as you can see he is completely harmless at the moment. I thought…that perhaps it would speed your recovery to have him close at hand."

Briseis smiled widely, causing her lip to split open. But despite the pain, her heart was relieved. Theseus was alive!

"How did you find us?" Briseis asked, looking to Paris, then Lysander.

"I heard yelling," Paris said. "Who was it?"

Briseis smiled tenderly, a move that puzzled both men. "It was Theseus," she said quietly. "The man kept hitting me, and I did not know what to do. I was just…in shock. But when I looked at Theseus, who was already bleeding, he wasn't concerned about himself…he was concerned about _me_. And I'll always remember what he said to me…"

"What did he say?" Paris asked gently.

"He told me to fight them," Briseis said, her eyes hard but her smile gentle at the memory. "He said 'you won't ever have any type of greater purpose if you let yourself die in a place like this,' and he was right. I had to fight…not because I was brave or strong, but because I wanted to live. I can't do anything if I die."

After a moment of reflective silence, Briseis looked up at her cousin. "When will Theseus wake up?"

"The doctor said that he should wake within the next few days," Paris answered. "Although his life is no longer in immediate danger, he needs to rest, so I do not foresee him participating in any more festivities."

Nodding, Briseis looked thoughtful. "As long as he recovers, I do not mind. As soon as he wakes up, I need to discuss something with him, in addition to Uncle Priam."

"Why do you need to talk to my father?" Paris asked.

Looking at Lysander shyly, then back at her cousin, Briseis lowered her eyes. She decided she did not mind if Lysander knew. "Theseus and I were talking last night, and we decided that I can help a lot of people if I become a priestess. It was such an incredible feeling I had last night, helping that man, and I felt that maybe I could have a grander purpose for my life, one that went beyond fulfilling the stipulations of an arranged marriage. Theseus believes that by becoming a priestess, I will grow closer to finding out more about why I'm here."

"And Theseus helped you with all of this?" Paris asked skeptically. "I mean, he is a good person and all, not that I'd ever admit that to him when he's awake, but he's silly and casual and carefree."

"I agree with Paris," Lysander added. "He proved his worth last night, but the majority of the time he acts as if life is inconsequential. I am surprised to hear that he is your confidante on such significant matters."

"He is a mystery," Briseis said after a moment. Considering his complexities took a lot of strength, and she found her mind growing hazy. "I do not understand him at all. It is as if he wears masks…the jester, the saint, or the reprobate…but something tells me that no matter how he acts, he's just plain…good…"

"Well, Andromache would be the first to defend his good name," Paris muttered, glancing out the window. It was not quite noon. "But she and Hector are at the market right now, or should at least be arriving."

"Why is the Princess not here to tend to her brother?" Lysander asked. "They are very close."

"Andromache wanted to stay, and indeed Priam would have let her, but she told me that Theseus hates to have people fussing over him when he is sick or injured," Paris answered. "She said that they only remind him of his weakened condition and his inability to do anything himself. She said she will visit with him when she returns; it makes no difference now because he is still asleep."

"Why are Hector and Princess Andromache going to market?" Lysander asked, puzzled.

"It's part of their punishment," Briseis said, yawning. "She told me about it yesterday…"

Recognizing how sorely she needed rest, Paris nodded to Lysander. The pair departed from the medical ward, both wondering how on earth Hector would survive a shopping trip.

"Hector, I asked that you purchase the three ingredients I requested nearly twenty minutes ago," Andromache said exasperatedly. "What on earth is taking so long?"

"Er, nothing," Hector replied evasively, stuffing the slip of papyrus into the sleeve of his robe.

"What are you hiding?" Andromache demanded, knowing that between the hot sun, fears over her brother's condition, and Hector's bumbling she was losing her temper.

Sighing deeply, Hector retrieved the shopping list and handed it back to her. Adjusting the basket handle on her forearm and balancing several bottles under her arm, she awkwardly took the item. With a flourish of her wrist, she opened the slip of papyrus, which was rife with scribbles.

"You are _bargain_ _shopping_?" Andromache asked him unbelievingly after her eyes had scanned the page. "You are the son of the most powerful man in the city. Money should not matter, not over something as inexpensive as ingredients for a _recipe_."

"But I don't want to be wasteful," Hector explained slowly. "Elektra only needs three cucumbers to make that batch of tzatziki and the vendor to my left is selling them in pairs. However, down the street there is another vendor who is selling five for a very fine price, but that leaves us with two too many. Yet purchasing two pairs from this vendor will cost nearly as much as the other vendor's offer, and perhaps Elektra could use the other two—"

"This is not a military campaign where we need to scrimp and save and work out rations," Andromache told him gently. Hector frowned at as she patted his hand patiently, a deliberately patronizing gesture that held a touch of teasing. "Why don't you buy from whichever vendor you want and I will return in ten minutes. I'll also expect you to have purchased those other items on the list."

Hector nodded. Andromache almost wanted to comfort him after glimpsing the confounded look on his face. Hoping he would be all right, Andromache turned from him, for once glad that she did not have her purple cloak. As she meandered down the rows of vendors, Andromache grew thoughtful.

_I was supposed to meet Hector on this beach, had Briseis gotten her way_, Andromache mused. _That seems so long ago…But I have not even known Hector for two weeks…the mission his father sent him on took three…_

Andromache turned on her heel, finding Hector standing very close to where she had left him. Cradled in his arm were five cucumbers. Bewildered with her sudden reappearance, Hector feared she was angry with him. He knew she was emotionally on edge after her brother had been attacked, but he could not prevent the first thought that entered his mind from slipping out.

"My ten minutes aren't up, are they?" Hector asked worriedly, his mouth agape.

The tension in Andromache broke at the innocent question, and she found herself laughing. Alarmed at her response, Hector could only stare, completely puzzled.

"Are you alright?" Hector asked, finding her hysterical laughter a bit distressing considering the strain she was under.

"Yes, I'm—it's just that…your question…it was…" Andromache trailed off, laughing and crying some more.

"It was what?" Hector asked desperately.

Andromache looked at him for an infinitely long moment. "Cute."

Ingredients balancing precariously in the arms of Hector and Andromache, the pair headed home. The latter had found the outbreak of laughter to be cathartic, and was in a much better mood on the way back.

"Hector, before I lost my composure in the marketplace, I had a question I was going to ask you. Why did your mission take three weeks? Lésvos would not take more than a couple of days to reach."

Hector nodded. "This is true; however, the pirate group that we were tracking was up in the Dardanelles. We had to sail there and comb the waters for the pirate vessel. Our supplies were running low, so we had to make a stop at Alexandroúpolis after a week and a half. After five days we still had not found them, so we traveled to Samothráki to seek information. A fisherman there told us that the pirates supposedly attacked merchant ships only after they had just departed from the Alexandroúpolis port, right before dusk. During our first trip there, we arrived early in the morning and missed them. Two days after receiving the information, we found them."

_It's always we, us, and our_, Andromache noticed. _He never takes the credit himself, even though he makes the decisions that are responsible for the army's success… _

"I should have been more detailed when I recounted my story earlier," Hector said apologetically. "I said that the conflict was resolved peacefully in the end, but only because of the eventual understanding of their leader, Ilías. In addition to building the fastest sea vessels I have ever seen, he is a good man, whose loyalty to his people I shall always admire. He has a marvelous gift for ship building; he's simply amazing."

"I did not know you liked fast ships," Andromache said, smirking.

Chuckling, Hector smiled back. "I only like them to be fast so my journeys are swift."

"Then you don't like them otherwise?" Andromache asked.

"I am far more comfortable on a horse than on a boat," Hector said. "But a horse cannot cross the sea. For centuries, most of our conflicts have forced us to rely on the latter. Sparta is our greatest enemy. Their army training is by far the most rigorous on the Greek peninsula. Additionally, there is a mercenary group in their employ called the Myrmidons. While their loyalty is only limited to the amount of money Menelaus pays them, the group is said to be ruthless and invincible."

"No one is invincible," Andromache said crisply. "Even the gods can be bested by one another."

"True," Hector conceded. "But let us not dwell on rumors. The conflict with Sparta is far from this city's walls. They have not given us any problems recently and I hope it stays that way. Father desires peace with them so he can help fix the problems that exist _here_, in Troy. The incident last night proved that there is definite room for improvement…An attack, in the middle of a religious festival, no less!"

"At least Theseus will recover," Andromache said quietly, looking thoughtful. "He has been acting a bit strange lately…I wonder if he foresaw this occurring. Theseus has been known to get…premonitions…"

"You mean like my sister?" Hector asked.

"No, his are more like visions," Andromache said. "And they are always about things that are in his future. Your sister receives the tidings of the future from Apollo but Theseus…no one knows where his come from. Your sister always knows exactly what the future will hold. My brother is given broken images to interpret. He mentioned to me that he thought Cassandra to help him, but he will not tell me with what."

"I wonder what he saw…" Hector wondered out loud. He glanced over at Andromache, who was lost in thought. Without a word, the pair disappeared into the palace.

"Did you understand anything of what she just said?" Andromache whispered to Hector, who stood just to her right.

Concentrating hard on Elektra's rapid lecture, Hector did not hear his betrothed's voice. Eyes narrowed as he pondered why the walnuts needed to be chopped on a diagonal, the prince hoped he did not look as confused as he felt.

"Be sure to use the honey glaze after _every layer of dough_," Elektra said warningly, speaking to both Hector and Andromache in addition to her entire kitchen staff. Only sprinkle the walnuts after every five layers. _And only on top of the honey!_ Not underneath! _Believe me; I will know if you do otherwise_…"

Flinching at the chilling tone of Elektra's voice, Andromache found herself developing a morbid curiosity concerning the consequences of mixing up the order. But surely Elektra would not be able to tell just by looking at the dish…

"Prince Hector!" Hector straightened up as the cook addressed him sharply. "I expect you to take this seriously. I do not have the patience for childish antics. And you!" Andromache stiffened as Elektra's beady gaze was directed on her.

"Yes?" Andromache murmured, her usual tactic of looking down useless as the older woman was a foot shorter. Staring straight ahead seemed to work, and she suddenly found a great deal of fascination in the pots hanging from the ceiling.

"I'll be keeping an especially close eye on _you_," Elektra said coolly, eyes narrowing as she squinted up at Andromache.

"I shall be assigning you tasks as I see fit," Elektra said evenly.

"Excuse me," Hector spoke up politely, not quite meeting his cook's eyes. "Why are we making this food so far in advance? It is only the forth night of the festival. The feast takes place on the seventh."

Breathing deeply, Elektra turned her head slowly to look at him. Attempting not to whither beneath such a harsh glare, Hector stood painfully erect. Back as straight as an arrow, Andromache feared he his spine would snap if he grew any tenser.

"If you must know," Elektra began slowly. "The dishes I am preparing tonight are all new recipes I want to try out. I know you aren't an idiot, Prince Hector, and I trust you to follow my instructions faithfully. If the results are satisfactory, I will introduce them to your father's table on the seventh night."

"Oh, that makes sense," Hector muttered, completely honest.

Andromache tried not to chuckle, but the movement of her hand traveling to cover her mouth caught the eye of the shrewd cook.

"You won't be laughing after you stand in front of that oven all night, baking bread," Elektra said crisply, effectively eliminating the smile from Andromache's face. Eyes wide, Andromache's mouth fell open before pursing in a gesture of pure mortification. "The color on your cheeks will not have the beauty of a maiden's blush after this night is through."

Nodding stiffly, Andromache studied the floor intently. _This is going to be a long day…_

Expelling a breath sharply, Andromache kneaded the dough thoroughly. The meticulous side of her nature usually manifested itself when she created something, and she found cooking to be no different. Similar to her drawing, she made sure no detail was ignored. All the ingredients were mixed in painstakingly detailed ratios; Elektra would have complained about her lack of haste if she had not approved the reasoning behind it.

Ten feet away, Hector felt absolutely miserable. At first assigned the simple task of garnishing the stew with decorative herbs, Hector found himself utterly confused. Elektra knew the man was hopeless when it came to the final presentation of a dish. She also knew that he was not all that particular about the physical appearance of all he ate, so he did not see the purpose in all the special touches she lavished on her creations. She soon discovered, however, that his skill at preparation was incredible.

"Your cucumber slices are incredible," one of the cooks gushed, pointing to a pile of evenly-cut cucumbers. "They aren't too thick, aren't too thin, and they're all the exact same size. Such superb precision!"

Later Andromache tried not to roll her eyes as one of the teenaged servants gushed over his skills as he was given the task of using a mortar and pestle to crush ingredients. This was not a job that Elektra would allow just anyone to do, but she begrudgingly admitted that his manual dexterity was a valuable asset to her kitchen. His capable hands reduced even the trickiest spices to a fine powder within a fraction of the time it took one of her cooks.

Elektra turned to observe Andromache, pleasantly surprised that the girl had not once uttered a complaint. The way she moved through the kitchen suggested that she had cooked before, though did not possess extensive experience. She would always ask if she were performing her tasks correctly and if she was having difficulty she would try to work it through until the problem had been fixed.

"Good work," Elektra muttered softly, looking at the bread briefly before moving on to supervise some of her younger staff. Andromache smiled at the compliment, pleased that the older woman appreciated her efforts before remembering how hard she was working. It was extremely hard to bake bread on an empty stomach, since Elektra had not allowed them to have a meal. Taking a brief leave of the intense heat of the bread oven, Andromache conveniently brushed shoulders with Hector.

"This woman is a slave driver," Andromache hissed. She wiped sweat from her brow with her palm, belatedly realizing that her hands were covered in flour. Without thinking Hector's hand moved to brush the flour away, forgetting that his hands reeked of the onions he was chopping. Andromache felt a flash of irritation as the odor caused her eyes to water.

"Yes, but Elektra makes good food," Hector murmured absently as he picked up his knife returned to his task, quickly and expertly dicing onions. "And the only way she can do that is by working her staff rigorously."

"Can you imagine if the woman had children?" Andromache muttered sourly.

"I can," Hector replied lazily, the tapping of the knife blade hitting wood a sharp contrast to his relaxed tone.

"Are they anything like her?" Andromache asked, her irritation replaced by curiosity.

"I don't know," Hector replied honestly. "My grandfather permitted Elektra to take a husband since she and Priam were close companions growing up. She had her first child when she was only sixteen. Before she became my father's cook, she was a handmaiden to my great aunt. Elektra's husband was a servant to my great uncle. During a voyage to Marathon, the ship my relatives traveled on was attacked by the Greeks, plundered and set ablaze. Elektra's husband drowned before they could be rescued. The son was only eight or nine; he was probably killed before the Greeks set fire to the boat. She has had other children since then with another husband, but they have died in their early years. None of them have survived longer than five winters."

"Oh," Andromache whispered, ashamed that she had been so judgmental. "I guess she has a lot to be bitter about, then. If I lost my husband and my son, I wouldn't ever be the same. Their deaths mean that a part of me would perish too."

Hector's eyes met hers for briefly, realizing what her words meant. He was going to be her husband, a husband not of her choosing, yet she said that if something were to happen to him she would be forever changed, that a part of her would be lost with him. No one had ever told him something like that before.

"That sounds foolish, I apologize," Andromache said quickly in embarrassment, turning back to the oven before Hector could speak. Realizing he did not even know what to say, Hector sighed, the thud of his knife hitting the cutting board echoing his racing heart.

Finding it more than just unusual that Princess Cassandra had been seen out of her quarters so often in the recent week, Lysander's curiosity was further piqued when he saw her headed to the infirmary. She carried something bulky in the circle of her arms, wrapped up in a thick bundle of cloth.

Knowing that whatever she was doing was most likely harmless and really none of his business, Lysander resisted the temptation to follow her or call out and ask what she was doing. Watching the silhouette disappear into the door of the infirmary, he decided that it would be best to use this evening to tie up the loose ends of yesterday's case.

Leaving Cassandra to her unknown task, he departed for the city. Lysander knew there was a good chance that Theseus's attacker had survived the grievous wound that he had inflicted on him. If that were the case, the incident would be far from over. Briseis would remember the horror of that night for the rest of her life, as would Theseus for the remainder of his.

The tiny sounds of Cassandra's footsteps sounded as loud as horse hooves on marble in the quiet of the infirmary. Without hesitation, the young princess wordlessly placed a black-colored parcel on the small table between Briseis and Theseus's bed. Unaware that a slip of papyrus had fallen from the bundle, the girl left swiftly. The note fell onto the table beside the mysterious package.

Curiosity burned inside Briseis, who had surreptitiously cracked open her eyes and witnessed the entire thing. Still a bit possessive of Theseus, she was still uncomfortable by the easy rapport he and Cassandra shared without even knowing each other a day.

Groaning as she straightened up in her bed, Briseis leaned over and snatched the message. Instead of the detailed note she was expecting, what she saw was twelve words scratched hastily onto the papyrus.

I am sorry, but this is the best that I can do.

Puzzled by this message, Briseis attempted to determine what it could possibly mean. Unfortunately, thinking too hard produced a headache and she soon abandoned her quest. Letting the paper fall back onto the table, Briseis dropped back into bed. Sleep instantly overtook her.

Trying not to look terribly amused by the sight of Hector painstakingly calculating the right amount of cinnamon, Andromache hid a smile behind her hand. Though the measuring tools were crude, he was doing an admiral job. The kitchen maids were still in awe of their prince and general hunched over gazing critically at a spoonful of the contrary red spice.

"The pace that you work, it's a marvel that your army ever makes any progress," Elektra snapped impatiently when five minutes later he had only measured six other ingredients.

"I am very sorry you feel that way," Hector said sincerely, his eyes now focused on the drizzle of honey that ran from the jar to a cup.

The corners of Hector's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, but Elektra noticed and her scowl deepened. Chewing on her lip, she realized there was nothing to be done about him. He was surprisingly good for morale, at least when her maids weren't fawning over him. He and his future wife could not have been a better surprise; competent, hardworking, and best of all — no whining.

Andromache smiled despite the fact she felt like her face had been baking along with the bread in the oven. Her hands were dry and covered with flour, her clothes are completely ruined, and her hair was a sweaty mess, but she felt oddly satisfied with the work she had completed.

"Here," Elektra said abruptly, thrusting a plate in front of Andromache's face. "Dinner. You have fifteen minutes to eat it before I want you working again. All the trays need to be scraped and the utensils cleaned. Understand?"

Andromache smiled and nodded, instantly arousing suspicion in the older woman. The princess was getting her first break in hours and it was only so she could have a brief meal before returning to work. Realizing that some of this happiness probably had a great deal to do with Hector smiling at her from the table, obviously waiting for her, Elektra sighed. She watched the girl rush to the table, taking a seat next to her future husband. She watched Hector and Andromache at the table, talking animatedly to one another as they quickly ate. Their allotted time was over, too quickly for them, and they returned to work, each missing the occasional looks one would give to the other.

_Of course, everything is always easier when you have someone there to share the hardships,_ Elektra thought pensively. Even though she loved her current husband, it had been a learned type of love. Her first husband was her true love, the one she would find herself thinking about even as she worked in the palace kitchen.

_What an incredible smile he had…_Elektra remembered, turning away from the table to hide the tears that sprung in her eyes. Watching people in love often upset her, for they were a painful reminder of what she lost. It had happened so long ago, but the night would always be engraved in her memory.

_Elektra was in the water with her husband, both of them having been pushed overboard by the Greek assailants. Her injured husband was with her, bobbing in the cold water. He had lost a considerable amount of blood, having suffered several blows from a Greek shield. His vision was blurring but he made weak movements towards the ship, towards their son. _

_The burning debris drifted dangerously close as she tried to maneuver herself and her husband towards the ship to find their son. It was slow because she was a small woman and was barely able to move in her robes. She had never learned to swim as a child since she had been enslaved; she could tread water but not too much beyond that. Still, her dogged efforts were only stopped when she realized that her husband was no longer moving with her._

_"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly. _

_"We can't go on," he told her, his eyes full of pain and anguish. _

_Elektra began to panic. "No! We will! Don't give up on me! I'm trying as hard as I can!"_

_"I'm not giving up on you," he whispered, dangerously close to losing consciousness. "I am trusting you to take care of our son, Elektra. But I cannot go any further. Find him, Elektra. Promise me."_

_Elektra cried, her tears lost in the ocean that swirled full of turmoil and violence and death. "I promise, but I can't do it alone," she reasoned. "Don't leave me!"_

_"I'm sorry," he whispered, loosening her grip on his arm. "I love you Elektra…"_

_Elektra cried out as he let go of her completely, succumbing to his pain and slipping beneath the waves. The ocean was an inky black, the flames of the burning ship reflecting sharply against the water. She ducked her head underwater, frantically looking for him but finding nothing. Knowing her search would be in vain, she looked back at the burning ship, which had sunk nearly halfway beneath the waves. _

_"No!" Elektra screamed, crying uncontrollably. She had just lost her husband and refused to lose her son. She managed to move closer to the ship by moving to and from various pieces of debris since she was not a competent swimmer. The wreckage around her was extensive, her search always in vain as she scanned the remains of the ship scattered upon the ocean. When a neutral merchant vessel passed through three hours later, Elektra was dragged from the water, screaming in protest._

_"My son, he's still out there!" she pointed to the place where the ship had vanished completely underwater an hour before. "I can't leave my son! I have to find him! I haven't looked everywhere yet!" There was indeed a great deal of wreckage, but in order to make their shipping deadline they could not afford to spend hours searching. _

_"Woman, the night is cold," a merchant said gruffly, although he was trying to reason with her. "I hate to tell you this, but your son is probably dead already."_

_Elektra nearly escaped the grasp of the men holding her as she attempted to return to the water. "No, I must keep looking! I promised I'd find him!"_

_Fighting like a wildcat, Elektra nearly returned to the water before she felt something heavy impact the side of her head. Dimly, she realized one of the men had smacked her in the head in an effort to restore her senses. In her weakened state it had caused her to fall. Her head hit the deck, and she could hear the concerned murmuring of the men as checked to see if she was alright. Before she lost consciousness, she felt tears escape her eyes and the whisper of her son's name escape her lips._

_"…Ilías"_

"Elektra, I've finished cleaning the last tray," Andromache said, unintentionally interrupting the woman's thoughts.

"Make sure you put all the ingredients back, just don't succumb to the temptation to put them on each other," Elektra said to Andromache, eyeing Hector pointedly, giving no indication that her thoughts had been on something far more serious.

Blushing, Andromache nodded, turning back to her work. What Hector told her about Elektra changed Andromache's outlook on the woman — she had been through so much sorrow.

_To be a bit harsh…I cannot say I blame her_, Andromache thought sadly. _The world has been so unforgiving to her…I don't care if I haven't known him for too long, Hector is…well, he's…I just…cannot imagine the world without him in it, fighting or laughing or even brooding…how empty things would seem…_

Hector looked at Elektra, noticing something was different about her. He knew he would often dismiss her fits of temper as a sign of old age, but sometimes he worried about her. When he and Paris were young boys, she would often treat them coolly. Hector supposed two living reminders of what she lost running around her skirts all day would be painful, but she would occasionally show a softer side. Hector would catch her smiling at them, quickly frowning when he noticed and smiled back. As a young child Paris used to think this was a game until Hector told him what happened to her.

Hector completed his assigned tasks, his mind occupied with countless thoughts of Andromache, Theseus, Elektra, and Paris.

Andromache must be disappointed in how things have turned out since she arrived, Hector thought, irritated at how events were evolving. I am not here to greet her, we get punished by my father, and her brother and my cousin were brutally attacked. She's so unreadable sometimes…I wish I knew how she felt.

"Elektra, I've finished here," Andromache addressed the older woman. "Is there anything else you would have me do?"

"No, I'll do the rest," the woman said brusquely, but the usual bite was gone. "You two run along and try to stay out of trouble."

"…Alright," Andromache said after a moment. "Um, by the way, have you decided on which dishes you'll be preparing on the seventh day?"

Elektra gave her a careful look. "I'll surprise you."

Andromache smiled. "Good. I look forward to it." She turned to Hector, who had just finished clearing the counter of ingredients. He looked at her and they left quickly, Andromache throwing the woman a glance over her shoulder before she left.

Elektra felt a small smile tug on her lips before she returned to work.

Andromache felt a thrill of excitement go through her as she and Hector traveled the halls of the palace. Most of its occupants were at the festival, even after the incident the night before. She knew her brother would still not be awake so she tried to make the best of the night. Having Hector hold her hand as they rushed through the hallways was certainly a sign that the night was certainly salvageable.

"Hector?" Andromache asked breathlessly. "Where are we going?"

"I was thinking about the garden," he replied, not slowing down in the slightest.

Andromache smiled as they entered their destination, a flush of exhilaration on her cheeks as she and Hector sat down on in front of the largest fountain. Neither gave it much thought that they were sitting on the ground. They leaned against each other comfortably, and she noticed he still held her hand in his. She rested her smooth cheek against his shoulder, the fabric of his toga softer than it looked. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric and heated her skin.

Hector felt a sense of contentment he usually felt when he tended to his horses in the stable. A sense of comfort and ease laced with something he could not place. He looked down at their intertwined hands which rested on his lap. A smile found its way onto his face, erased abruptly when he realized he was grinning like a fool for no apparent reason. He stole a glance at Andromache, a bit surprised to see her suppressing her own smile.

"Is something funny?" Hector asked her softly.

"Yes, a bit," Andromache revealed, averting her eyes in an attempt to hide their merry sparkle.

"What is it?" Hector wondered, not sure what to do about her increasing mirth.

"Earlier you said you could not cook," Andromache said. "You said you had no skill."

"I don't," Hector told her.

"_Your cucumber slices are amazing_!" Andromache mimicked the kitchen maid's high-pitched voice to perfection. "_Such superb precision_!"

Hector glowered at her unsuccessfully before shrugging. "I think you're upset that I got more compliments than you."

Andromache blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked pointedly. "Elektra herself said I was doing a good job."

"I think you're jealous that all the maids were paying more attention to me," Hector said, grinning.

Andromache rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Hector, but you should not even joke about that when your brother has probably captured all their hearts."

"I think those maids have too much sense for Paris to handle," Hector said. "Besides, he tends to like the married ones here of late."

Andromache sighed. "At least I don't have to worry about you running around with women," she said, then stiffened against his shoulder when she realized that she voiced relief over something that had originally worried her so much before she arrived.

"I could never be with another woman after being married to you," Hector said.

Andromache looked at him, trying to read into the statement. Knowing his strong sense of duty, she recognized that he meant it only that he would be faithful to her out of respect for the laws. Still, even if it were the only reason, Andromache felt reassured.

A comfortable silence fell between them, both of them looking up at the starry sky. The day was not as humid as most, and the stars were more visible than normal. Theseus would always point out constellations to her, a very fitting thing because Andromache felt he was hardly ever grounded.

_Theseus…I worry about you_, Andromache thought sadly. He acted like he could handle everything, yet Andromache knew he didn't tell her half of what he was feeling. He never liked to burden her with his negative emotions, preferring to put on a happy face for her sake.

_He never likes to make me sad…_

"Andromache, are you alright?" Hector asked, noticing a tear sliding down Andromache's cheek.

She nodded, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand before realizing it was a futile gesture in stopping the sudden deluge of them. Sobbing uncontrollably, she tried to shy away from Hector in shame.

"Shh," Hector calmed, his hand on her back rubbing light, soothing circles. He held her close, angling his body towards her. He moved so that he could hold her more comfortably, sighing gently into her hair right below her chin.

Andromache slid as close as she could to Hector, feeling better just sitting with him. She was glad he didn't try to appease her with "It will be alright" or "Everything will work out" because she knew that he would never promise her that.

He'll only promise what he can give me, Andromache realized, tilting her head to look up at him. Andromache was not sure how long they looked at each other without moving before their lips met. Shaking due to the intensity of the feelings she was experiencing, Andromache's wrapped her slender arms around Hector's neck, her fingers traveling to his hair.

Hector's mind was in a daze—the warmth of her body, the smoothness of her skin, even the scent of flour clinging to her were all amazingly attractive. His arms slid around her waist, holding her close. When their lips broke apart, their eyes met, both breathing heavily and watching the other's mouth pointedly before kissing once more. Andromache started to protest when his lips left hers, then sighed when she felt them on her face and neck. Burying his head in her hair, Hector held her even tighter than before.

Savoring the feeling of Hector's breath against her throat, Andromache looked up at the sky. A star winked at her before vanishing, and Andromache knew that she loved Hector.

**Author's notes:** I haven't done notes for any other chapters before, so I hope you take the time to read them. I'm sorry about not updating for so long…The last time I updated was in July, and since then I've had several life-changing events take place (I'm not exaggerating either). Because I'm weird and curious, I was wondering the age of the people who read this story…I'm interested in knowing and if people tell me how old they are I'll tell you how old I am, if I haven't told you already.

For people who don't like Theseus—I'm sorry! I like him a lot and am proud of him as a character. His involvement will die down a bit, as will Briseis's, within a few chapters I think, but know this: I don't think you'll be expecting what I have in store for him. Don't worry, Hector/Andromache fans, the story is ultimately about them and I haven't forgotten. Once again, I apologize for not updating for so long, but my life is a very messy thing.

Thanks for reading.


	18. Eighteen

18

…

MaryScot 

…

Paris studied the slack features of Theseus's face, wondering if he could see perhaps a spark of what made him so special to Briseis and Andromache. Both women seemed to love him, both in the same way. They took his joking and cavalier attitude in stride, believing there was someone of more substance beneath.

_I've only seen him act a fool,_ Paris thought. _I haven't really considered him beyond what I myself have seen. But why does he act so careless and foolish? Why not act like the prince he is? Even I have more dignity than he._

"Can I help you with something?" a voice asked, startling Paris. Surprised, he looked up and noticed that Theseus had awakened. The older man's eyes were a dark burgundy, a color that stood out even more clearly than ever due to the sickly pallor of his skin.

Paris did not answer, he merely looked away. After a moment of observing the colorless wall, he turned back to Theseus.

"Do you love my cousin?" Paris asked.

"Yes," Theseus told him frankly, wearily raising a leaden arm to stop the younger prince. "But not in the way you think. I cannot allow myself to. And I know what you're thinking; what do I, a flamboyant, cavalier, overly-dramatic prince know of control? A great deal, actually. Yes, I'm drawn to the girl, but I do not dwell on what I feel because I know deep in my heart her destiny does not lie with me. And believe me, when your heart is telling you to do something it takes everything you possess and sometimes what you don't to say no. But I cannot bring myself to interfere with her fate."

"How can you know such a thing?" Paris asked him.

"Apollo has decided to curse me with the ability to see my future," Theseus revealed, his face unreadable. "But not to the extent that your sister can. I was foolish to believe that Cassandra could help me interpret what I have seen. But I do know that Briseis was not in my future, and therefore I cannot allow myself to develop feelings for her beyond what I have already. My future lies in Thebe."

"Then why are you here?" Paris asked. "Why have you come here and caused so much disruption?"

Theseus looked oddly pensive. The expression was not one Paris was accustomed to seeing, and seeing the normally cheerful prince in a state of melancholy was more than slightly disconcerting.

"I…truly apologize for any trouble I've caused between Andromache and your brother," Theseus admitted. "She and I have always been the closest in the family and perhaps a part of me wants to cling to the way things were when we were younger. But we are not children any longer, so I suppose it is useless and even foolish to hang onto the way things were. It was neither my intent nor desire to cause your family problems."

"Then why are you in Troy?" Paris asked.

"You will know on the last day of the summer solstice," Theseus said, his flat tone indicating this was clearly the end of the conversation. He closed his eyes, presumably to go back to sleep. Sighing when the older man's eyes slid shut, Paris rose from the room and stalked through the palace.

Theseus cracked his eyes open. _Yes…on the last day of the festival you will know everything._

Andromache cursed herself when she caught herself staring dreamily out the window to where Hector cared for his horses below. She was painfully aware that she stood out, standing in the servants' quarters garbed in lovely silks of ivory. She knew that she would be embarrassed if anyone caught her.

_I don't feel the same as before…_Andromache realized. _I feel like my heart is floating above my head…I don't know what to do! Hector looks normal, but I feel like a storm is raging inside my soul. I'm so anxious…I don't like feeling this way! I'm not like this! I'm not a love-starved twit who latches on to handsome princes like an empty-headed maiden!_

Growling in irritation, Andromache spun around, her back facing the window. She paused for a moment before leaving, deciding it was better to go before someone saw her. In her haste she missed Hector look up at the window.

_Andromache…_Hector mused, cocking his head as he studied her hurried departure. _She looks distressed…I hope she's alright. Perhaps she's not feeling well. I suppose she is worried about her brother. Did he wake up yet?_

"Lysander, do you know if Theseus has awoken?" Hector asked his friend. The older man looked up from brushing his horse.

"I have not yet checked, but I believe Paris paid him a visit this morning," Lysander replied. "Perhaps your brother would know."

Hector was pleased that Lysander's voice no longer held hints of resentment or dislike for the Theban prince. Lysander always had a soft spot for Briseis, treating her as a younger sister. Knowing that Theseus had fought for her had elevated his status significantly.

"Why was my brother visiting Theseus?" Hector wondered out loud. "I doubt it was to check on his progress."

"I don't think the young man's attitude sits well with Paris," Lysander offered. "Indeed, I have felt the same way. Theseus is a bit too…casual about certain things. But he's obviously not a bad person, and I think it's more of a competition between them because they're both rather young."

Hector sighed. "I swear, I must be Paris' second father," he muttered. "That boy can't stay out of trouble. I hope he hasn't said anything foolish to Theseus…"

Cassandra sighed. She sat in her room, as she did every day for nearly its entirety, staring out the window at the world Apollo had purposefully alienated her from.

"I suppose it is pure irony that fate would deliver someone who understood me only to take him away. Theseus shares a small glimmer of my ability but we are both cursed with the inability to prevent it. I have tried my best but it will not be enough to save anyone."

Cassandra thought sadly of the sleeping prince that lay quiet in the infirmary. Protect his life, it could, the helmet she had gifted to him…but it would not be able to save the rest of his family.

"I have often wondered if there was a soul who knew what it was like to suffer the despair that I feel…"

_…And now I know there is._

_He says his gift is so limited that every clue he receives points to the same thing…the fate he cannot escape. __Greece__ lays siege to Thebe even as we celebrate…and unfortunate, kind Theseus has left his country because his father commanded him to find help. But my father will not send the might of his army. He desires peace with those violent Greeks! Hector will eventually be sent and yes, he will drive out the Greeks, but not before—_

"Oh Apollo!" Cassandra cried, knowing her voice would disappear before falling on the ears of another. "Why have you cursed me with this ability to see and the inability to act! Is this your answer to every maiden who refuses you? What have I done so differently that I should suffer so? Why do you have to punish Theseus with visions of his family's death? Why have you shown him nothing but a life of misery!"

Cassandra slumped into her chair and cried.

_It isn't fair that he carries the burden of his fate alone. He came here to __Troy__ to call for aid, yes, and ostensibly that is his reason for being here. But the real reason…the reason he won't admit even to himself…is to say goodbye to his sister before returning to Thebe. He knows the price his family will pay before the Greeks sail home…_

Theseus opened his eyes to find a very concerned Briseis gazing back at him across the room. She gave him a small, sweet smile, threatening to reopen her split lip. He smiled back, realizing the huge bruise over his right eye made them quite a pair.

"Are you feeling alright?" Briseis asked quietly, worry and concern clearly evident in her voice.

Theseus smirked. "I must admit that I have been better," he answered, trying to summon a reassuring tone. "But I'm fairly certain that I have or will feel worse. How are you feeling?"

Briseis shrugged. "I must admit that I have been better," she repeated. "But I pray to Apollo that I never feel any worse."

Theseus relaxed and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling, pointedly avoiding a glance at the gift he knew Cassandra had left him. Briseis returned to her thoughts as well. After a long stretch of silence, she glanced over to see a mildly distressed Theseus.

"Are you alright?" Briseis asked tentatively.

"I'm concerned about my sister," Theseus admitted. "It was selfish of me to come here like this, and now that this has happened…I don't want her to worry about me." Theseus looked as if he were about to continue, then stopped abruptly. Very quietly, he added, "I'm not worth it."

"And why do you say that?" Briseis asked sharply. "What makes you think you aren't worth her tears? You're a good person, Theseus. Why won't you let anyone take you seriously?"

Theseus looked pensive. "It's complicated," he told her, avoiding her eyes. "And it's strange, though, that I loathe saying anything. I have always prided myself on being honest with others, on my ability and desire to keep the channels of communication free. But I can't tell anyone…it's my secret…the one thing I've kept from my sister."

"Why can't you tell her?" Briseis asked. "What's preventing you from just saying what you wish to say?"

Theseus looked at her squarely. "Pride," he replied carefully. "I have too much pride to burden her with this. I love Andromache but I have not always been the best brother. I've gotten her injured, I've made her angry, and there are even times that I have made her cry. She's a strong person but not so strong as to be unfeeling. I act the part of a rogue, and that alone has her worried about me. But she has the rest of our family to help her, but one day they—" Theseus broke off suddenly.

Briseis opened her mouth to bid him continue, but he finished on his own.

"It's just…one day they won't be there for her," Theseus said very softly. "And then there will only be me. It will only be the two of us…each with our own separate set of problems. But maybe, _just maybe_…if she thinks I haven't a care in the world…if I'm carefree and light-hearted and so damnably optimistic…she won't worry about me anymore. The last thing I've ever wanted to be was a bother to her, but in the end, that's all I've become. I've tried so hard to reassure her that I don't need her concern, but it's so difficult when I know she'll understand. But she's going to be married, and I don't have the right or the luxury to be the closest to her heart."

"Theseus…" Briseis murmured sadly. Not knowing what else to do, she reached out a hand to comfort Theseus. His longer one held hers, squeezing it unconsciously as his emotions warred inside him. After a moment, he looked at her, his eyes clear.

"I've never told this to anyone before," Theseus began, "but I need to tell someone. I spoke of it to Princess Cassandra…but she already knew. It isn't as if I had to actually _tell_ her anything. The visions I see, the ones I've mentioned off-handedly to my sister are glimpses of what my future holds. But whatever I say and have said, they aren't as unclear as I've made them out to be. In fact, there is nothing they _don't_ show me."

Briseis's heart went cold at the odd tone of his voice. "What did you see, Theseus?" she asked hesitantly.

An alarming blankness overtook Theseus's eyes as he recalled his dream. "Thebe…was no longer a city, but a spot of fire on the horizon. The beautiful mountains were merely slabs of burnt earth and the wildlife was driven away. Our tiny army perished during the first wave of Greek soldiers. Three of my brothers were killed, and one of them injured. The women ran in panic through the streets, raped and killed before the eyes of their children."

"That's terrible!" Briseis cried, her hand clutching his. It had grown remarkably cold and clammy in her grasp. "What about your father? Is he driving the Greeks back? Or maybe he has found a way for the citizens to escape?"

Theseus shook his head. "My father is an old man," he told her. "And he was never truly a warrior, much like Paris."

Briseis frowned at the slight against Paris but realized from his expression that he hadn't meant the statement in a derogatory way.

"Father was facing a Greek warrior, a man who had no real loyalty to king whose banner he fought under," Theseus revealed. "And because of this mercenary, Father was dead in a heartbeat. My brothers, the ones the man had not yet killed, charged him and were struck down instantly. All six of my brothers and my father were dead because of one man."

"Oh no," Briseis gasped, wondering how one man could be so powerful. Knowing she could not just leave it at that, she closed her eyes and pressed onward. "What happened next?"

"We fought," Theseus muttered, his eyes completely vacant as if he were seeing something in his mind. "We exchanged blows, though mine were ineffective against such a warrior. I remember every dream ending with the same thing."

"…And what was that?" Briseis whispered.

"I felt the power of his spear crack my helmet," Theseus murmured. "Then total darkness."

Briseis choked on a sob. "I can't believe this!" she cried, wrenching her hand away from his. Angry tears ran down her cheeks. "You're going to _die_ and you're so wretchedly calm! Aren't you scared?"

Theseus looked wounded when she withdrew her hand, and symbolically her support, away from him. "I do not wish to die, but I am not afraid of death," he answered. "But I have known about this for a long time. More than anything I want to stay alive because I want to be there for my sister! I don't want her to be all alone. Father was not enough to save our mother from despair. She wanted to die! My mother meant as much to me as my sister and I watched her waste away to nothingness. She told me things she never told my brothers and sister and father. I was the only one who was really there for her in the end, and I was not enough. Andromache will grow to love Hector, of that much I am sure, but will someone she has only known for a few months of her life going to be strong enough to support her through the grief of losing her entire family?"

Briseis could not stop her tears from falling. Even though she knew many believed her to be innocent and sweet and kind, she was not an emotional weakling and had never been one to cry much. The unaccustomed grief was draining and she fought for control.

"If I die, then it is the will of the gods, and to serve my beloved city to such a degree would bring me honor," Theseus told her solemnly. "…But I cannot help but think that it is so _unfair_ to her. Andromache lost her mother, and already that is more grief than some encounter in all their lives. But to lose her entire family? Why does she have to suffer so? I love her more than anyone but I'm completely helpless against this? _Why_ can't I stop it?"

Briseis felt her heart ache as she looked at him. The confident, cheerful rogue no longer, tears of frustration and guilt and sadness had escaped from his eyes. She reached over and wiped them away, the liquid burning hot against her cool hand.

"…I…was not strong enough to save my mother," Theseus said slowly, holding her hand once more and obviously relieved at the comfort. "And to know I won't even have the chance to try and save my sister…it is so hard to accept. I've never been able to keep things from her, but I've managed to hide this _one_ _thing_…it has been so difficult to be alone."

Briseis smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "But you're not alone," she told him, her kind smile lifting a lot of grief from his countenance. "And neither is she."

Theseus looked at her a long moment. The tiniest of smiles touched his lips before he nodded in agreement. "You're right," he told her, his smile broadening as he felt the burden of misery lighten even further. "She's not."

"Paris?" Andromache asked, approaching the young prince outside the infirmary. "Have you seen Hector?"

"Actually, I just spoke with him a few moments ago," Paris answered. "He told me he needs some supplies in the city."

"Supplies?" Andromache was puzzled. "For what?"

"My brother is in the army and I am not, so assuming that's what he needs them for, I do not know," Paris said tightly. "Unlike yours, my brother can take care of himself."

Andromache gave him a hard look. While she knew he did not care for Theseus, he had never behaved so hostilely towards him and most certainly had never been so rude towards her. Taken aback, she merely nodded.

"I guess I'll wait for Hector's return," she muttered. Andromache walked away abruptly, her elegant movements a bit off balance by what happened. Irritated at his behavior, Paris clenched his fist angrily until he felt some tension dissipate. When Andromache was completely out of sight, he sighed.

Paris leaned his head against the half-open door of the infirmary. Earlier, Theseus's raised voice had attracted his attention, but he had paused before going in and had been unable to move until their conversation ceased.

_I never knew he harbored such a secret_, Paris thought. He was unsure of what emotion he felt, and decided that resentment suited him best.

_Theseus will die with the rest of his family; to flee his duty to his country would be cowardly. But could such a terrible fate really be a product of destiny?_

Paris thought back to Cassandra, who had proclaimed that he would be the downfall of Troy.

_But how would I ever accomplish such a feat? I have neither the military skill of my brother nor the wisdom and power of my father. I have no desire for the harmful ambition that has poisoned the minds of the Greek kings and even if they came, our city has never been invaded. Our walls are invincible and Apollo himself is our patron._

_Ah, but is the sun god not also a patron to Thebe?_ a nagging voice inside his head asked. _He has obviously not protected them if what Theseus said is true, and he most certainly would not be here if it were not._

Not liking the fact where his thoughts were going, Paris threw one glance through the cracked doorway before turning on his heel and abruptly heading to his room. In no mood to celebrate, he retrieved his bow and a quiver of arrows from his room. Stalking towards the garden, he knew it would be a long night.

Taking a deep breath, Hector braced himself before knocking on the door of a fine Trojan home. Anatole, the most sought-after jewelry maker in Troy, resided just beyond the walls, and Hector found that he was not anxious to cross that threshold. She had been spoiled as a young girl and had never lost her constant desire to tease than bordered on mockery.

Thought Anatole was not a bad woman, she embodied many of the traits that Hector feared Andromache to have before he met her. The recently-widowed Anatole was vain, exceedingly superficial, and distressingly materialistic. She was a beautiful woman who made beautiful things; a woman with a surprising amount of disdain for that which she deemed ugly. And any judgments made to determine the worth of something were always based solely on outward appearances.

And there was always that other little thing between them…the reason he had avoided her for so long. They had been childhood friends, not terribly close but someone intelligent he could talk with. And while her supercilious attitude was not always welcome, he later grew to recognize it as a defense mechanism. But it had not been enough to spare her the grief of losing her husband, ironically the only thing in her life that could be deemed as less than attractive.

The servant who answered the door nearly folded himself in half when he bowed upon opening the door and finding the Trojan prince. Though he wore casual attire, his face was known to every person in the city of Troy as its military leader and future king.

"Lady Anatole, how are you this evening?" Hector asked politely.

"Just fine," she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. Her quick answer did not fool Hector.

"Anatole…" Hector began, his hands outstretched in a plea for her to listen.

"Stop," she said firmly. She turned half away from him, her arms crossed. "It's no use apologizing. My husband fought by your side and loved you as a dear friend. He would have been glad to die as he did."

"I know you blame me for his death," Hector said.

"And is that not the case?" Anatole questioned. "He fought in _your_ army, after all. And it's funny that I miss him so much when all we ever did was argue."

"It was good-natured arguing," Hector offered, taking a seat on one of Anatole's fine leather chairs. "And you enjoyed every minute of it. No one has ever enjoyed arguing as much as you."

Anatole smiled, sitting down across from him. "Yes, I did. But there were so few times when we _weren't_ disagreeing over something. Too few of those sweet, tender moments that any good couple should share. And it's funny, really. I was set on marrying a man who would make the 'ideal husband,' someone who was handsome, wise, and always gentlemanly."

"He had a great deal of charisma, Anatole," Hector said. "Everyone liked him."

"Yes, but we hated each other when we first met," Anatole said. "I told him to his face that he was an ugly, egomaniacal, idiotic jackass. And deservingly, he called me a high and mighty, vain and self-righteous bitch. Those aren't exactly good grounds for starting a relationship. It's so ridiculous that we even fell in love! How can anyone possibly get together under those terms?"

"It worked for you," Hector told her quietly.

Anatole sighed at the truth of the statement. "I suppose you're right. It's been easier to cope if I try to stay mad at him and somehow make this all his fault. But when I think about why I fell in love with him, it's so hard to come up with a good reason. He was always rushing off and doing something reckless, usually to impress you. And he wasn't even handsome!"

Hector laughed. "The gods are great fans of irony," he told her.

Anatole sighed. "If I ever try to love again I shall have to do it your way."

"My way?" Hector choked. "What are you talking about?"

"The servants at the palace are talking," Anatole said, wagging her finger and grinning at him mischievously, "and have told _my_ servants that your relationship has been developing quite nicely. I mean, honestly, Hector, the kitchen? Couldn't you have at least waited until you two were married?"

Hector started in his chair. "Anatole!"

"Relax, I jest," Anatole soothed. "I forgot; it is difficult for you to take certain kinds of jokes."

Hector glared at her crossly before cracking a grin.

"I'm serious, though, you seem to be making more progress than I expected," Anatole congratulated him. "I hear only good things, and I'm assuming you are here to request a gift for your new wife?"

Hector nodded. "Yes, that is exactly why I am here."

"I saw her when she first arrived and she's quite lovely," Anatole said off-handedly, but Hector recognized sincerity and admiration in her voice. "And she does not seem the type to be amused by any mere trinket."

"She's not," Hector answered. Something in his tone made Anatole look at him funny.

"I see," she said after a moment. "What type of jewelry were you thinking about?"

"It has to be gold," Hector told her firmly. "Something intricate and elegant—none of those terrible styles you've been coming up with lately for some of the women in my father's court."

Anatole blinked. "You actually pay attention to my creations?" she asked him skeptically. "You're lucky if you notice the color of your toga before you put it on every morning."

"The women of the court are sporting these ridiculously large headdresses with precious stones large enough to choke a horse," Hector told her frankly. "Something so overpowering would not suit Andromache."

Anatole sat back, apparently delighted at Hector's consideration towards his future wife. Though she smiled, the expression in her eyes was unreadable as she asked her next question.

"What is she like?" Anatole asked. "It will help me craft something befitting if you tell me all you can about her."

Hector took a deep breath, remembering all he had learned about her in the past few weeks.

"Well, she only has one pair of silver earrings," Hector began. "Her brother bought them for her because he knew she liked gold, but I've seen her wear them before so I know she doesn't hate them."

The hopelessly romantic side she had carefully tucked away was singing at such a sweet memory. Anatole was trying desperately not to grin like an idiot as she asked him to continue.

"She wears a cloak in the _summer_, which makes no sense at all because it's long, heavy, and made out of thick wool," Hector grumbled. "It hides her figure and makes her appear shorter than she actually is."

"And this bothers you?" questioned Anatole, giving him a knowing look that completely went over his head.

"It doesn't make any sense, that's all," Hector muttered. "She wears it at night especially, when I've seen her sitting in the garden drawing pictures on scraps of papyrus."

Anatole smiled even further, a chuckle barely smothered by her hand as she demurely covered her mouth and pretended to cough. "Excuse me, please continue."

Hector glanced at her before continuing. "Well, there is this certain type of perfume that she's trying to find," Hector said, "and it is made from saffron flowers. She keeps a broken bottle of it in her room, and remarkable it still retains the scent after many years."

Anatole nodded, covering her mouth again and pretending to cough as she tried in vain to suppress her giggles. Hector's visit had made her feel remarkably better—he brought closure to her heartache and he tolerated her mood swings and teasing very well. It was a chance to act like herself again, something she had not done since her husband had died.

"Incidentally, that's how I met her brother, Theseus, and he's quite a character if I've ever saw one," Hector remarked. "But Andromache is incredibly loyal to him; indeed, she loves her family very much. She is a very noble and elegant woman who—Anatole, are you quite alright?"

Anatole nodded, laughing and coughing all at once. After she gained her composure, a process which took several minutes, she straightened up primly and smiled. "Please continue."

Anatole chuckled inwardly as he readily continued.

_The mighty Prince Hector, surrendering to his feelings_, Anatole mused. _Although to be completely honest, he has never hidden his feelings because on many occasions, he just doesn't have them. He's always ambivalent towards war, yes, but this kind of thing is completely new to him. He probably doesn't even realize that he has feelings for her at the level he does but when he discovers this, will he try and hide them?_

"…she's really shown in interest in my ability with horses…" Hector told her, oblivious to his friend's scheming mind. "…she used to ride them as a child, so I think one day I'll take her riding out by…"

_No, he's always been the type to accept what he feels in his heart without question_, Anatole told herself. _He just doesn't know what to do beyond that point. Now, just how long is he going to take to get there?_

**Author's Notes**: Sorry it took so long, but I've been very, very busy. With all the info you guys so delightfully submitted, I've determined that the average age of my reviewers is eighteen. I'm going to be weird and make you all guess how old I am! But seriously though, I wonder how old I seem? I'm probably going to be told countless times "yes, you _must_ be young because the fact that you're asking that question makes you _immature_!" And to that I'd have to say yes, I am. But seriously, humor me! Based on my writing, how old do I sound?

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system, I promise some Hector/Andromache interaction in the next chapter. I know the story is about them, but Theseus's impact in Andromache's life is very, very important later on, especially in how it shapes her relationship with Hector. I did include a great big scene with Hector, who visits a childhood friend and basically gets to tell her how he feels about Andromache. I needed him to be able to talk to someone on equal ground about relationships and figured that he'd open up to her because he'd want to talk to someone about all the new feelings he's experiencing. In real life people confide in what some would be considered strange choices, so I didn't think it would be that much of a stretch because Hector, while fairly easy-going in most respects, does like to talk about how he feels with others. Anatole will be back, as will Ilías, because both will yet fulfill a greater purpose.


End file.
